The Art of Being Infinite
by samrosey
Summary: Girls, on a stairway to somewhere. It will be pretty. Or it will be tragic. Boys, just like a slave. Like wasting half a life. Like they were meant for something else. Of all the faces, places, and hearts smashed to pieces - today was an eight. Meet the therapist, she's a dancer, dancing to fix. Meet the artist, lonely for inspiration. Edward/Bella. AH
1. Finding Bella

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_I don't know what this is, or how short/long it will be.  
I'm trying something, I hope you'll join me.  
(Unbeta'd, not pre-read)_

* * *

_Finding Bella_

"Hello, I'm Bella." I offer my left hand, and gesture to the couch with my right.

He looks at me as if he's unsure, and then finally takes my hand. His hand is cold, and I wonder what the temperature outside is. It was raining this morning.

He hasn't let go of my hand yet so I direct my eyes to them, as if to ask a question. All the questions.

"You're left handed." He says, and then let's go.

He sits, and I'm still standing there with my hand mid-air.

"I am. Does it bother you that I didn't use my right?"

I'm sitting now, and he's just watching me. Almost expressionless. And whatever is there, I cannot read it.

"I'm not bothered by you." He says, oddly.

"Do you want to introduce yourself?"

"You know my name." He says. And he's right. The sheet left for me, made by Shelly, has little information, but it does have his name.

"I do, though since this is the first time we're speaking. Wouldn't you like to share some information?" It's a question. And if this was a movie, all I would do is ask questions. But that's not how it works in reality. Neither is the rule about sharing my own information.

"Okay. How old are you?" He asks me.

"Is that important?" I reply.

"Depends which side you're on."

"Side?"

"Well from over here, it's something I would like to know."

"Is there an age that I can say that would be pleasing to you? An age that might disappoint you?"

He looks at me again, without speaking. I haven't seen him look around the room yet. He isn't strumming his fingers against the armrest. He isn't fidgeting, adjusting his clothes, or the box of tissues on the table. He's just watching me. Waiting for me to play.

"What brings you here so urgently today?" I change lanes, he already has a head start.

"I needed to see you."

"You needed to see me?" I don't want to admit that if he didn't look the way he looks, that what he just said might make me nervous. But he doesn't. Make me nervous.

He is handsome. Almost familiar looking. But I feel as though if I had seen this man before. I would remember.

I would remember his boyish grin. Smiling even when he isn't speaking. I would remember the way his hands find his hair now and then. Not from anxiety. But from habit. I would remember his soft voice, and his most certain words as he speaks them. I have no idea why he's here, or if he will in fact need my help. But his eyes, they tell me I want to know, I want to keep pushing to find out. They're green like the clock above my head. Green like the trees at night.

He hasn't answered my question, so I wait.

I count to four hundred and twenty, having waited seven minutes and give in.

"Your hair is black. And curly long. I like it." He says, compelling me.

I should be deflecting this. His attention to the way I look. But I don't. I can't.

"Photographer." He lifts his hands, palms in the air. He's explaining his comments. Telling me he see me through his camera. No camera involved.

"Did you study for that?" I ask.

He zooms in on me, his eyes threatening to set off some kind of deadly blast. I'm thrown. That was a shit nonsensical question. And he knows it.

"What would you like to talk about today?" I try, never breaking the eye contact he seems to need.

"I did something I'm not really sure I can take back." He says.

"Why can't you take it back?" I ask.

"I see things. I don't want to be a dick, and say, I see it all differently, and I'm the only one. But I do see. I see when people aren't looking. I see when people are looking, and I take..." He stops for a minute, and finally looks around, stopping on the clock above my head. Eighty two seconds pass. "I'm taking things without permission. The face of the person I don't know. The argument I overhear. The crashing of one's personal belongings as they fall to the floor from their handbag. And I'm not giving anything back. They don't even see me. They don't see me."

"Do you want them to see you?"

"I don't know."

"If your camera were gone. If you couldn't take that moment to breathe before pressing the button, would you still take what you've been taking?"

"I want to." He says. His eyes roaming my body. My skirt is tight and doesn't allow me to cross my legs. Instead I press them together as close as they will go. I feel like it's not enough. Like he can see anyway. And I understand in this moment what he means. There is no camera, no film, there's just him. And me. And whatever it is he sees. Whatever it is he's looking for. I feel like he's just found it.

I don't take a breath before I speak, I feel as though I'm holding onto everything I have, and right now, it doesn't feel like enough, "What brought you to therapy, Edward?"

"You."

* * *

**_A/N: _**

_I hope you enjoyed it, I would love to know your thoughts.  
_  
_Please and thank you! _  
_samrosey. _  
_XOXO_


	2. Being Bella Part I

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_Unbeta'd, not pre-read. Forgive me._

* * *

_Being Bella, Part I_

"Your hair is still black." He says.

Today his t-shirt is dark red, the print on the front is faded and unreadable. His hair is still a mess. Wild and wavy, his hands push it out of the way when he speaks.

"Did you expect it to be a different colour?" I ask him.

"Maybe." He replies as he reaches the couch. Today - only our second session - he lies down with his legs out, his hands across his ribs, tapping. I feel a little like I came up empty handed. As though, even with him here for the next fifty minutes, I won't come out on top because he's hidden. I can only see the side of his face. No eyes.

The side of his face. Familiar.

"I think everybody wants to feel what this is like." He turns, propped up on an elbow now.

"Lying on a therapist's couch?"

He nods.

"Do you lie on here after we've all gone home?" I feel my face heating. The burn of my cheeks all the way to my ears. I know he sees it. Probably wishes he had his camera.

"Sometimes."

"Do you charge everyone the same fee?" His question makes me feel like I'm see-through. As if both of my worlds are laid out in front of him, and he could be talking about either one of them.

Clients. Customers.

Ribbons. And price tags.

"It depends."

"On what?" He asks.

"What they need." And I realise the answer is the same for both of my jobs.

Edward is tall, and his feet gather at the end of the sofa, one on top of the other. He's wearing black boots; Dr. Martens. His blue jeans are soft, worn in, and he's not wearing a belt. It's sexy. He's sexy. His shirt falls into the bend of his torso, now lying on his side, and I see skin. Staring at me. Whispering softly to me, to come and lick it.

"You're nervous." He says.

"Why do you think that?" I stall.

"You're no longer making eye contact."

"And that means I'm nervous?"

I'm looking at him now, and I want to continue but he's alarming. In the best way. He's armed with things I don't see. The exact type of person he says he watches when he's out with his camera. He's watching and I don't want to be one of them. I want to be the exception. I want to surprise him. Maybe even impress him.

"I'm sorry." He says. Softly, sweet. Looking down, and away.

"What for?"

"Trying to provoke you."

"You were?" Stupid. He knows I know he was. We both know it worked.

He's back to smirking at me.

I smile. And blush. Again.

"How did the last session make you feel, Edward?"

"Say it again."

"What?"

"My name. As if you know me."

"But I don't know you. Not yet."

"Say it again."

"Edward. How did you feel after the last session?"

"Excited."

"Sexually?" It's out of my mouth before I realise it's wrong. I shouldn't have said it. I shouldn't put that in his head, let him think it's okay. It is okay though. Just not. I'm not okay. What is wrong with me?

"That's not what I meant."

"What were you excited about?" I feel flustered. Unusual.

"I found this fountain once. Out past town, through the square and even past the market. It was quiet. It was dirty and discoloured and seemed like this piece of hidden treasure just waiting for me. I couldn't wait to go back the next day with my camera."

"You feel that way about coming here." I say.

"Can I record our sessions?"

"Only audio."

"So I can't photograph you?"

My stomach has left the building. It has slid out of my body, leapt across the floor and flew away.

Thump thump thump.

I fidget in my seat. Hot under his stare. His forest eyes, dusky and deep.

Thump thump thump.

"Is that something you want?"

"Maybe."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Not entirely."

"Had we met before yesterday?" I lose a boundary when I say it. As if we're anywhere but here. Him seeking therapy. My pretending like I'm his counsellor.

I can't not count, waiting impatiently for his next words. His next surprise, kicking me in the stomach, and slapping me in the face with the exact excitement he told me about. The exact excitement I read about. Long for.

Only fifty-three seconds.

"No."

I was convinced that he would say yes. I was convinced that he would turn out to be one of my customers, now a client.

"Shelly's sweet on me. I got a slot each day this week."

"That's not really recommended, Mr. Cullen."

"Mr. Cullen?" I'm trying to salvage this client-therapist relationship. He doesn't seem to like it when I don't use his first name, but I'm trying to salvage my spiralling desire, pull it back in and lock it up.

"Tell me, Mr. Cullen, what you hope to get from these urgent sessions?"

"I'm hopeless. Lost. A lost cause. Yeah. I need you, Bella. Don't you see, I need...help. With...many things. Besides, I paid already. For the whole week. No refunds."

He needs me. Help! He needs help.

Not me. He doesn't want me. He wants anyone. It could be anyone.

"Until tomorrow, then."

He nods, and grabs the door handle. He doesn't turn to look at me when he says, "I expected you to have pink hair." And then he leaves.

Fuck.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Next we move outside the sessions._

_Please and thank you!_  
_samrosey._  
_XOXO_


	3. Perceiving Edward

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**___Parts of this were pre-read (____Thanks to ficfangirl)_ Most of it was made blind. ___  
_

* * *

_Perceiving Edward_

It's been thirty-four minutes. Thirty-four minutes, and he refuses to answer my questions. I have pink hair sometimes. I have caramel waves sometimes. I have blue braids, and orange curls. We have met. I think. The faces all look the same after a while. Or rather, I feel the same after a while. I still get excited, excited to move, excited to see a newcomer. The face I've never seen before, knowing it's his first time. But really, I'm doing it for me. The costume, the music, the way I chose to present myself.

I like repeaters. Here. I don't like repeaters. There.

"Are you allowed to sit on here with me?" It feels like a line. Almost.

"Why?" I look at the couch he's sitting on, and wish it were somewhere else, maybe his place. Then I could stand up, walk over, be near him.

"You ask too many questions." He says, getting frustrated.

I thought about him last night. And the night before that. I googled him, and found his portfolio. His images are amazing. Breathtaking. Lonely. I shouldn't have done that. And I shouldn't be thinking these things. Feeling this way. But he's pushing me, he's not detached. He's here on purpose. Sitting in front of me on purpose.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks me.

"I can't tell you." I say, being honest.

"Can't, or won't?"

"A little of both." Really honest.

He pushes his hair up, and sits forward, his elbows on his knees. Today he wears an open shirt over a t-shirt. The sleeves are rolled up, and he's wearing a watch. I want to run my fingers up his arm. His strong, sexy, boy arm.

"There." He yells. "I want to know what that was."

"Edward, you're being inappropriate." I'm being inappropriate. I'm failing at this. He obviously needs my help. But he's staring at me, his lips parted, and I want to taste them. I think. I want to be shaken. Definitely. Snap out of it.

"I'm sorry." He says. We've been here before. Him trying to provoke me. Always trying to get me to lose the rest of my boundaries. He said he was sorry.

He's sorry, and I'm stupid because I don't really want him to stop, but he has to.

"Will you get in trouble?"

"Depends what you mean by trouble." I tell him. And I don't know why I didn't lie and just say yes.

We have five minutes left.

I want something real.

"Tell me one thing that's true. One thing that brought you here that has nothing to do with me, before you go, and tomorrow... Tomorrow you get to ask me one question. Anything you want."

"And you'll answer, no sidestepping, no answering a question with a question?"

"Anything. You have a few minutes, and then we're done here." I can't let the session run over. Another boundary lost.

He sits for twenty-two seconds until he leans back, and looks up at the ceiling.

"I miss...stuff." His voice is low, like I'm sitting right next to him. "I sometimes worry I've seen so many faces that I've missed her. I've seen so many faces, and I still don't see her. Until..." He sits up straight, and runs his palms along his thighs, pushing it away, pushing the words, and the lonely, gone. It's not here anymore. Except it is. It's in me. I miss stuff too, catering to other people. Here, and with my other customers. Customers. I never let it make me feel like this. I don't need that other job, remember. It's just for fun. It gets me out of my head. Out of this room.

"Say something." He says, and my eyes are beginning to sting.

"Time's up for today."

* * *

_Before Bella_

I stand on the side of the street, watching a couple fight outside a coffee shop. It's dark early, winter cold, and this street still has the decorations up from Christmas. Gold angels, and big yellow stars light the pavement. The metal chair scrapes across the floor as I press the shutter. A woman is waving her arms up at her friend, boyfriend, husband, and he is pointing to his pocket as he talks back. I press the shutter.

Poke. Poke. Poke. The man pushes his finger repeatedly into his chest, where his pocket is. The metal table scrapes across the floor, and I press the shutter.

The mugs of coffee, tea, hot chocolate, shatter on the concrete. I press the shutter.

The woman walks away, walks across the street, away from the man and the broken words, full of broken tokens of an evening meant to be, and heads this way. I press the shutter.

"Creepy much? Perv." A blonde girl, wearing a red beret, walks up to me. I know this girl.

"Rose." She leans in and kisses me on the cheek. She smells like my mother's friends.

"Make it quick. I have a date."

"On a Monday? Must be real special." I know I'm being a dick, but she likes that. I go back to fiddling with my camera, paying her no attention.

"Bite me, stalker boy."

"No thanks. I don't know where you've been."

She huffs, and pulls on her purse, red, it matches her hat. "Do you have it, or not?" She holds out her hand.

"Thanks, Rosie." She likes that too. Or not. I push two twenties wrapped in each other into her hand, and smile my best smile.

"You're too fucking cute to stand on street corners. Don't you have anywhere better to be?" She pushes me playfully, and walks away.

Rosie Hale. She could have been the girl. One. Two. But she doesn't get it. Four. Five. And turn.

Rose turns to look over her shoulder as she leaves, stealing one last look at the one that got away.

"Bye, Edward."

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Nonlinear. _

_I would love to know. _  
_Please and thank you! _  
_samrosey. _  
_XOXO_


	4. Being Bella Part II

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_Parts of this were pre-read. I chopped and changed. Blame me. __  
Much thanks to ficfangirl. _

* * *

_Being Bella Part II_

_Before Edward_

Tonight I have a couple. It's not uncommon, and I quite enjoy the change. There's something tender about being in the presence of another woman when I do this. Something I have never experienced with a man. I choose to wear purple because it's pretty and sexy. I wear lace because it's not intimidating, and the couple I'm seeing are first timers. I grab a caramel-blonde wig, and decide to wear it loose and wavy. I clip it to the cap covering my own hair, and pull out my set of contact lenses. I choose green.

"Wanna get something to eat first?" Rocky stands in the doorway to my room. My best friend. My bodyguard. Some days he acts like my kid brother, teasing me about stupid shit. But it's more than that, because really, he takes care of me, he is the gentle I wish belonged to everyone. I tell him he's crazy for taking me on, and if he's sticking around, he can take the role of my father too, since I don't have one anymore. When I'm around him, I feel safe, young, as if my twenty-something years of making, making me into this person who gives, helps, sees, isn't real. He is blue eyes, and black hair. He is six feet, five inches of rock.

He drives me places, and he's always feeding me.

"Cake. Hmm. Chocolate. No sprinkles. Two forks." I turn and eye him. If I'm eating, he's eating.

"You look smokin'. Don't forget my private show before we leave. I don't do this shit for free."

I throw a ball of stockings at his head as he turns away. "In your dreams, Emmett." He doesn't do it for free.

* * *

The developer is soaked, stained permanently into my skin. I was nineteen when I stumbled out of my video production class and into Elke. Elke walked with a bounce. She wasn't excited, or hurrying to get some place. She was cool. She was breezy, a middle-aged biker chick with glasses. She did this thing to her hair that made it look like pleats, and she was always smiling. Her voice was deep, and she knew shit. She introduced me to my first Adams', she held me back when everyone had gone home, and she had the balls to convince me that magic would happen if I would just let her lock me in a pitch black room while I tried to figure out how _this_ film would end up on _that_ reel, all with my fucking eyes closed.

That was five years ago. And now I'm sitting in this room with this girl, smelling like desperation.

She's wearing the grey skirt from Monday but it's paired with black tights and boots today. She looks more like someone close to my own age like this. She looks more like she's ready to interact with me, instead of trying to hold up walls that don't need to be there. We're not doing anything illegal. I want her to let me in. I want her to be sitting over here, and for me to be asking the questions.

I miss the pink wig.

I miss the bare feet.

I miss the opportunity to be normal, to ask for her number. She'll never give it to me now. She'll never look at me that way now, it's against the rules. Stupid fucking rules, I wish she would break.

"Why Bella?"

"Pardon me?" She's so fucking cute. I imagine what she does in that room at the club, and who she does it with, and I feel sick in my stomach. Place that girl in front of this one, please, I fucking beg you.

"Isabella Swan." I say. That's what Jasper told me. That's what Jasper told me when I enlisted him to investigate the stranger girl with no shoes.

"Clients usually call me Isabella." But customers don't? I bet they don't.

"When we met, you said Bella. _Hello, I'm Bella_."

"Why don't you like to be called Mr. Cullen?" She asks me. And she caught that, huh.

"Do you call all of your customers by their last names?" And I know it's a slip. I haven't been back to the club, but I know what it is. I know what else she does. Who else she does. This is just playing pretend.

"Are you ready to work on why you're really here?" She says. And I'm not. I'm here for you, I want to say. I'm here because you're fucking beautiful. And the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted to know you. So I stalked you. And now I'm here. So maybe we should talk about obsession, compulsion, infatuation, lying, stalking. Maybe. Maybe not.

"You said I get one question." She's blushing. Just like the other day. Maybe the rules won't be that hard to break after all. The line of work she's in, she's not at all how I thought she would be. But this is another world, and her hair is black today. Again.

"One question. Go ahead." When I don't respond right away. When the air seems to close around my head, smothering me, I see only one way forward. One way from me to her, and I don't speak. Can't speak, it feels like. I just want to watch her. Follow here. See her when she's not watching me back. I want to take pictures and even more pictures of her, and hang them all up on my wall.

I'm officially crazy.

She's counting down the minutes until I'm gone. I know it.

"If I selected a ribbon, bought the champagne, if _I_ paid for... If it was me, behind the glass... Would we have to stop these sessions?" Her eyes are like the lake behind my grandparents house. A dark well of secrets, I think I'll never know. And then she surprises me.

"No."

* * *

_Before Edward_

I look in the mirror and read the colours. I open the drawer and pick up my journal. It has blue seashells adorning the front, the one my father gave me for my birthday, and open it to today. This day, a day I wish it were more simple, and the mind I was in just hours ago, was the mind I kept for all time.

_I would eat you whole, just to have you._

_I would eat my own eyes, just to finally see you._

_Today was an eight._

"Come on, Bella. I got double chocolate."

I skip out of the room and into the kitchen, and before I leave, I devour two thirds of the whole thing.

Dancers, dance. And I am ready to be twenty-six again. I am ready to be fearless.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_For now, the scenes outside of the sessions are nonlinear. These will be made clear by the use of 'Before Edward', and 'Before Bella.' If they do not appear, it is still the present. The nonlinear scenes are there to establish character development. And to eventually get back to the present in which they met in the sessions. _

_I'm sorry for the confusion, I thought it would be clear. _

_I hope you can continue to enjoy this story. _

_Thank you for all the lovely support so far. _  
_samrosey. _  
_XOXO_


	5. Bella's Flight

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_This was pre-read before I took a knife to it and started hacking. Ficfangirl supports my crazy need for certainty. _

* * *

_Bella's Flight_

Alec Jones - Friday: 10.00am

An initial consultation sheet tells me that Alec is having trouble sleeping. He has blacked out once, and often goes into fits of rage. He is thirty-two years old, works for a law firm, and since he sat down, has been tapping his fingers against the armrest of the couch.

New clients are exciting. Edward is exciting. Though, I definitely don't intend to turn every client into a fantasy. _Just the ones who seem to know things about me, then? Just the ones that penetrate me with their piercing green eyes. Just the ones with sexy hands that I want all over me. _

"Would you like to talk about why you're here?" I ask him.

"I can't sleep. And when I do, it's interrupted sleep. You know, like I'm really just awake, waiting for something to happen. Pull me out."

"Have you experienced this before?"

"Not really." He is wearing a black suit that hangs off his body as if it's too heavy for him to carry. The top button of his white shirt is open, his thick black tie, sits loose around his neck.

"Do you feel stressed?"

"Who isn't?" He is very animated when he speaks.

"More than usual?"

"I have a promotion coming up. Well, maybe. I'm trying to make partner. You know how it is."

"Let's talk about the blackouts."

"What about 'em?" And just as animated even when he doesn't say much at all.

"What happened before you blacked out?"

"I was angry."

"Why were you angry?"

"I just was."

"Alec, let's talk about what's really going on here."

He huffs, and fidgets. He pulls at his pants, and rubs the back of his neck. His hair is shaved, he has dark eyes, sort of like a red-brown, and he makes me nervous.

"You're sweating. It's obviously causing you anxiety just thinking about what happened. Do you want to find out why?"

"So what if I'm sweating. What's your problem?" He has a very intimidating presence. Whether that's natural, or he's trying to come across that way, I'm not really sure.

"Alec, what made you angry before you blacked out?"

"I got into a fight."

"Who did you fight with?

"Some chick. Uh, nothin' physical." He shakes his hand frantically at me.

"What was the fight about?"

"Nothing really."

"Is she a friend?"

"We uh, we fuck sometimes, you know. Just uh, sex and stuff."

"What was the fight about, Alec?"

"Why's it matter?" He raises his voice, and I feel way too affected already. Often clients get emotional, irrational, angry. I've seen that. And I've seen this. But his hostility seems to have come way too soon. For the both of us.

"How did the fight make you feel?" I try again.

He is fuming silently, like the wind. Similar to a gust of wind slapping me in the face. I steady myself, deep breaths, back straight. Hands together, busy keeping myself together, hands together, strangling one another. Deep breaths, back straight.

"You are very agitated. You told me you're not sleeping. You said you're fighting with a girl friend. You're stressed out at work, under an immense amount of pressure. Everything matters, Mr. Jones."

"I fucking told you, I need to sleep. I have to make partner in six months tops, and in order to do that, I need the fucking count. So write me up a report already. You think I wanna be here?" He taps one hand with the other, in a cutting motion as he yells at me.

I say nothing in return. I simply sit, hands in my lap. He has to know this is a two-way street. He has to know there is work to be done here. Work for both of us if he wants to feel better, if he wants to sleep better at night. He has to want this.

I stare at Alec Jones for exactly twelve minutes before he gets up and starts pacing.

"Do you want to talk some more?"

"No, I fucking don't."

"You can sit here for the remainder of the session with me. It might help you relax to just let go of everything. Would you like that? Or would you like to leave?"

"Yes. Yes, I would like to fucking leave. Fuck." And with that, he leaves. Gone. A gust of wind.

After four minutes and eleven seconds, I stand up, my legs like jelly, and close the door, turning the lock so he can't return. I think about calling Rocky but I know I don't need him, it's just nice to think about right now. I slip my pumps off, and run my hand along my stockings, over a run in the side I hadn't noticed. I unpin my hair, and let the black curls fall down around my heated face. Even though I'm here alone, it feels nice to be covered by them. Shielded by something. Just for now.

I need a minute. Just one minute. I'm just going to lie here, and breathe. Just for one minute.

I lie back on the couch, and close my eyes. Before I can even think about what just happened, I feel like the tears are drowning me from the inside out. I squeeze them shut, tightly shut, and think of something less scary, someone less animated but equally as powerful. I think of Edward Cullen and how calm he was when he first came to me. How is patience soothed me, and thrilled me all at the same time. I just lie back and think about how he will be here in less than thirty minutes.

New clients are usually exciting.

* * *

"What's wrong?" I ask her, and I know it's not normal. I know I should just give up the fucking chase, or whatever this is becoming. But I can't seem to. Don't want to.

This is the fifth day. The fifth hour. Except I don't get an hour, I get fifty minutes, and I have spent the last two-hundred minutes with her just trying to learn things. She gives me nothing with words, but I see her anyway. I see the way she moves, holding onto herself when I try to undermine the parameters.

She is ethically defined, I get that. Some kind of handbook to run by.

But see, the thing is, after cutting my time in the dark room, after working shifts at that shitty office building, all I can think about is her now. I stare out the window, and see her in every face that walks by. Because the faces of those other ones, have nothing on hers, they're never right. But this girl, she's light, and dark. She's delicate, and strong. I don't know how I know the things I haven't been given yet. I just do. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong, Edward." She's lying. The sadness in her eyes betrays her.

"If I'm gonna spill all my secrets, aren't I supposed to be able to trust you?" I know she gets it, and whatever the rules are meant to be here, I can't deny this eagerness I feel radiating from her. "What's the use in fighting the inevitable?" Boundaries. That's what it all comes down to, and what I expect her to say. But that's not what she gives me.

"You're right, Edward. You are supposed to trust me. I am the keeper of anything and everything you say here, and abusing that trust, using this space to my advantage..."

"Stop." I can see the door closing, the invisible lines being scored in red. _Do not cross._ I have to salvage this mess, scour the wreckage, and save...myself. _You shall not enter._ She's shutting down on me. "That's not what I meant." I want a cigarette so badly right now. I wish I had my camera. I just want to walk the streets, and smoke until my mouth is dry. I want to kiss her. I want to take her with me. I want to hold her hand as we go.

Let's do this over.

Let's start again.

"I know. Let me introduce myself, I am Edward. I want you to be my..." _Everything_. "Therapist. I will from here on out cooperate accordingly. I will not try to get you to tell me things you aren't allowed to tell me."

Eager has turned into distress, and the sadness in her eyes is frightening. The room is thick with the heavy I have done wrong. I think she might cry.

Instead she just stands. Did I do all of this?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cullen. I'm afraid today's session will have to end here. Shelly will be in touch per our future appointments."

"What? No. Bella, I..."

"It's for the best." She says, cutting me off as she walks towards the door.

I get up, and follow her. This is it, this is my moment. If I let her push me away now, Shelly won't be in touch. She won't be in touch. There will be no more sessions. I can't take another day not knowing if I'm just insane or if this was real.

"I'm sorry. I fucked up. Let's just start again. Someplace else, away from here. Can we do that, can you just be Bella, and I just be Edward?"

"Edward, you have to leave. You have to stop this. I can't be what you want me to be. I can't be a fantasy. An excuse." And I realise that she has no idea. She turns to face me, hand on the door knob, ready to walk away.

"How can I go back to the way things were before... I know this is weird. I know I went about it the wrong way. But hey, we can talk about that. Can't we? Shouldn't we talk about that?"

"There are limitations here, Edward."

"But you do like me. I don't believe you don't think about me. I mean, come on. Is this a surprise? Didn't I make it clear that I came here for you?"

She says nothing, and I can see what she's trying to put off, so I move closer hoping to break down the last of her will to fight me. She smells like cake, like sweets, like the best fucking thing in this world. God, I hope I'm winning the battle.

"I do think about you." She whispers, and it's what I've been waiting for. But that elated feeling that should be blowing me up right now, is tainted with regret. I've done this. Made her feel like a failure. Those tears that are trying to run away from her, are for me and only me.

"You think about me?" I repeat her words like an idiot. Like I didn't already say that I knew that. I think about you too, is what I should have said. All the time. And this is crazy, right? We're crazy but it feels so good to admit it.

"I don't have the skills to help you, not like this."

"I don't need help. I need..." I can't say it. I've turned into a stalker. A mad man trying to hold onto something, something I don't know how to make come true.

"Edward, please." She pulls the door, and before she can get an inch, I slam it shut, my palm flat against the stark white. I wonder if her head is spinning as much as mine, if her heart is running track, each beat, each resounding pound ricocheting against her chest. Her breath is cool against my skin, our faces almost touching, and I move in even closer, needing it like I need fucking oxygen. I just want this chance.

"The moment I saw you, I knew I wanted to be close to you. You weren't like the others. I had such a shitty fucking night, and all I wanted was... I heard that guy talking about you, and everything about the way he spoke about you made me want that. I wanted to have that. So I followed him, and there you were. Bella..."

"No. I've heard quite enough. Now leave. Leave, or I will call the police. I will call the police, and they will remove you." Her eyes are on fire, glassy hot heat, still burning dark, burning me dead into the ground. In the midst of such conflict, I feel like that was more for her benefit. She's trying to convince herself as she openly fumes at me now. I wonder how hard that is for her.

I wonder how I'll wake up tomorrow, knowing I won't get to come here again, knowing I fucked this up so badly.

I swallow back the regret, the sick that's trying to force it's way up, and step back. She pulls the door open, and stands aside.

She doesn't say goodbye to me, and I can't speak. The tunnel forming around my head, no longer leads to her, it leads nowhere. I am suffocating in the misery I have just caused.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_I would love to know if you're liking this. _  
_Please and thank you!_  
_samrosey. XO_


	6. Being Edward Part I

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_Ficfangirl looks for the bad stuff. She is lovely._

* * *

_Being Edward Part I_

I pull the photo paper out and place it into the stop bath. The process is dying.

I hold my breath. This is what I fucking live for. Because I made that. I decided the amount of light to let in, and I decided when to stunt its growth.

I inhale the chemicals, and smile like a little kid at Christmas, like I always do when I'm in here, and move the paper into the fixer. The process is dying.

I know I need to stop, to leave for work at the shitty office building, but I don't want to. I can't make myself go, not now.

When Bella told me to leave yesterday, I knew I had to stop that, too. So I went back this morning and waited for her to arrive. I'm officially code black. I'm level ten. The creepy guy that hangs out in the bushes for a hot girl to arrive so I can take her picture because I don't know when I'll ever see her again.

_Siècle_.

The purple door flashing luminous in the back of my mind. The secrecy. The jazz music. The guy with the leathery face trying to stop me from entering.

I know I'll end up there. I know I will see her, somehow. But not tonight.

* * *

I scrub the mirror with my hand, wiping away the steam. My mess of hair is matted to my head, dripping wet. My eyes are red from being in the hole too long. Five day-old stubble is beginning to tickle my face. Water trickles along my skin, down my neck, onto my chest, and it's mesmerising to imagine the droplets as her fingers. I really just want to get back in the shower, under the hot torrent of numbness. But it's suffocating in this bathroom. It's making me tired, and pissing me off. It's winter, but over use of the red bulbs and light boxes make the place stay warm for hours after I've finished in the dark room.

I grab an apple and my keys, and throw them on the bed. I have one suit, black. I pull the pants from the hanger and grab my boots, ready for the night shift.

I can still smell the chemicals from before, despite my shower. I feel like I'm drowning in self pity, still thinking about the girl. I was so close, wasn't I? And then I look at the wall opposite my bed. The spiderweb of cause and effect that has been my life and dreams up until now. Faces, places, and hearts smashed to pieces. She's staring back at me.

The night shift is dull and I'm dreading it. I'm not even half dead yet, and this is what I've become. My shirt is too thin and my jacket doesn't fit right. For two weeks they've stationed me at the same place. I leave on foot, and head to the subway. My destination? An empty office block. Dull.

Fucking artist. I feel more like a slave. I'm wasting half my life just trying to make it. I was meant for something else.

I close my eyes and think of the wall. Those dreams are my everything. All that I have; everything I've done; and everything I'm going to do.

* * *

Every hour, I'm supposed to do a walk through. Every hour, I don't. I watch the camera that shows nothing but empty and think about taking my Pentax out tomorrow between jobs. I have a christening in the morning. Kids! Fun! Fuck! And then back here after. If I time it right I can catch the sky as the light is dying. Not dull. But magnificent. The sky is my teacher, my leader, and she tells me when to shoot, where to shoot and how to shoot. The sky is my friend.

I decide to do a sweep of the floor anyway, stretch my legs and get out of my head.

The city lights are titanic. The romance is screaming at me to come and capture it.

I refocus and catch myself in the window staring back.

I'm lonely for a series of somethings to knock me on the head. I'm on my own, wondering when I'll see Bella again.

* * *

My first customer is a blue ribbon. As he enters, for just one second, I wish it was Edward. But it's not. And I know it's not right for me to want that. I know I need to forget about him, and the way his persistence made me feel. I try to get back to the now, to focus on the man waiting for me in this room. I try to read him, but from behind the glass I can't see much, the curtain is obscuring most of my view. I can see he has light hair and dark eyes. He's wearing a suit, a grey suit, no tie.

He looks around the booth, a first timer maybe, at least here. There's only the bottle he ordered, a glass, his chair. And me. But he can't see me yet, though he knows I'm behind the window. He knows I'm watching him, and as he sits, he smirks and rests his elbow on the armrest.

I wonder why he didn't buy a red ribbon. If I were judging this from the outside, I would have guessed red. His suit screams money. But maybe he just wants to tease me, and himself. Maybe he'll come back for more later. That's common, too.

Some of the customers who come to Siècle treat the girls like they're nothing but whores. A dirty whore who is worth nothing more than the dance he paid for, and maybe not even that much. He might even be angry at me, feel a certain level of disgust that he paid for me to push his buttons. He will watch me move and imagine all the things he wants to do to me in return. Not all the things he wants to _give_ to me, but all the things he wants to _take_ from me.

I don't really mind being called a slut. If it's the right man, being told what I am to them, what I mean in no uncertain terms, is quite thrilling. I may be in character now, in a show, but I am still me. I want to be the one to decide what I am. I want to be the one to give myself, and be the one person that causes such a frenzy inside of him, he turns into an animal.

I feel myself getting pumped, enthused for this. This guy, he's favourable. I can tell he is the customer who comes to Siècle with a sense of admiration and worship. He's among those that treats a girl like she's a precious stone. Something to gaze upon, in awe of the beauty and seduction we create as part of the experience.

When the music starts, and the curtain is pulled back, revealing me to him, I remember why I do this. I think about what I feel is missing in my life, and remember how good this can feel.

This man is about to make my fucking day.

* * *

When I get home, I look at my book, the blue one, waiting for me to asses my day. I'm avoiding it, like I'm avoiding supervision. I know it would be useful, to talk about my difficulties with Edward. To explain how I found it hard to keep the lines clear. I know I would be told I should have cut the sessions after the second time he pursued the reckless path he was on. The reckless path I was on. But I wanted him to push me. I wanted him to force me out of the rules, and into his arms. But I can't force myself to make the appointment, because then it's really done, and the webpage I'm looking at will become something forbidden.

Black and white faces, eyes that reflect his loneliness. The motion in his images are so expressive, angry almost. The mouse hovers over the About Page.

Instead, I pull open my journal.

The customer in the grey suit was handsome, he enjoyed what he paid for, and I enjoyed giving him what he wanted. Still, Edward was on my mind the entire time. When the music began, I closed my eyes, ready to envisage what this man felt like, what he smelled like, but I saw only Edward. I saw Edward wearing those boots that I like, his legs spread wide as he sat back in the chair watching me. I closed my eyes to the music, to the feel, and to the smell of that peculiar scent that lingers in my room for hours after he's left his sessions. I felt dizzy when the curtain closed. I felt a rush I haven't felt in a long time.

And I felt guilty.

_It was fleeting, but so heavy that I was left feeling immobile as he walked away. _

_I want to crawl inside the pictures. I want to crawl inside myself and never come out. _

_Edward Cullen. _

_First timers in grey suits. I cannot breathe. _

_Despite it all, today was a four. _

I close my journal and click the link. His face is grey, his hair thick black. I can somehow still make out the green of his eyes, like the colour of trees after it's been raining. His black and white face is too real, and I feel as if I'm intruding. I'm in his life, his house, his room, looking in when I'm not supposed to, because I wasn't invited. I wasn't invited.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_You're the best. Please and thank you! _  
_samrosey. XO_


	7. Seeing Bella

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

**_A/N: _**_Thank you to Ficfangirl for sorting out my mess._

* * *

_Seeing Bella_

_Before Bella_

This girl had blonde hair and green eyes. The colour green was beginning to make me nauseous. This girl smiled at me like it was a question. Like it was information. Like it was the answer to everything. But she just kept on standing there, doing nothing. Not speaking at all. Just showing me her teeth. Seth introduced me and she told me her name was Lauren. I asked her at least three questions, and told her my own name, again. And still, nothing. I don't think she was shy, she was just...wasted. This girl wore a bright orange number with sequins all the way down to her belly, short shorts and high heels. It wasn't the girl that was dull. She gave me nothing. It was the situation. The situation was dull.

I told Seth I was going to the bathroom, and he knew. He knew I wouldn't be back.

I make my way out onto the street, glad to finally be out of there, and as I look up, over at the lines of people waiting to get into various places, I see a purple door. The night air is stinging my eyes, so I rub at them and run my hands through my hair, just trying to catch up with myself. The wind feels so nice running down the back of my neck, waking me up. Maybe there are smart girls up there, through that lonely door with no people outside waiting to get in. Maybe, just maybe, there are girls up there that know more than their own name.

Once inside the door, I look for anything that can tell me what this place is. I start up the stairs, and as the soft jazzy sounds of a girl's voice begins to filter down to me, I assume it's some kind of high class bar. When I reach the top, I see tables for two scattered about, one or two guys seated, nursing their drinks, the rest empty. I see a bar, and a lady with a top hat serving drinks, which I think is strange, but I wish I had my camera so I could shoot her. Shoot it all. But my mind is the camera now, constantly out of film.

Girls. There are girls everywhere. Girls standing on the tiny stage, girls walking behind the bar as if they're allowed. Girls bending over in front of each other fixing each other's strappy whatevers. Girls everywhere. And they all look like they're waiting for something. Girls. Girls with black hair, blonde hair, shiny dresses, and high heels. Shiny girls with smiles, and mystique. They look like they should be going out on stage in Vegas, not just waiting around. The more I look, the more I realise it's still just more of the same, more sequins and bullshit smiles.

Then I see her. She's the only one not wearing a shiny dress, nor is she plastered in clown make up. She's wearing a black number that hugs her ass, and she has pink hair that stands out, not like the others all blending together. She looks like she just threw those clothes on, not like she spent three hours getting ready. She is walking away from the bar, across the floor barefoot, all fucking sexy. Like she doesn't even care.

"Hey buddy, where do you think you're going?"

"Me? 'scuse me. I uh, sorry, pal. What is this place?" I ask the doorman.

"You don't know?" The doorman laughs and puts a hand out to stop me.

"Woah. Easy. I just came to play," I say, and I have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about.

"No pay, no play." The doorman raises his hand in some kind of gesture, but I don't get his meaning.

"That's what I'm talking about, sir. What would I be paying for, exactly?"

"Come on, time to go."

"How much? Just tell me how much?" The guy has a hard face, and long brown hair that looks like the bristles of an old broom. But he's not stupid. Money talks.

"See the nice lady at the bar." I nod and thank him, reluctantly. I'm not sure I want to pay for whatever was just implied by my own blindness. Still, I look for the girl with no shoes and see her standing down a hallway.

She has short pale legs, like the colour of milk, and they run all the way up to her ruffled ass. Black ruffled panties. Sexy. This girl is hot. This girl is something different, not at all like the rest. She has soft looking skin. I wonder how soft. I'm just standing here, watching her talking to a big blonde guy as I imagine myself finding out exactly how soft, and it feels amazing. I can't stop looking.

Fuck, she's talking to the guy from Screwballs. She's the girl he was talking about?

I can't stop looking. What are they doing, just waiting? I wish I had my camera. I wish she would turn around and look back at me. Turn around. Click. Just for one second. Click. She's turning around. Click. Click. Click. Cherry-red lips, and the pinkest cheeks. This girl has brown eyes. Big brown wells filled with secrets and words I'm dying to know. She smiles. She's fucking smiling at me as I stand awkward and alone staring back at her, in a place I don't even know. I am so out of my element. Yet I am so comfortable just looking. Looking at her.

I wonder why she needs this big dude to guard her door. I wonder if I'm in a fucked up place full of fucked up situations.

I wonder why someone as pretty as her is here at all.

* * *

Since then, all of my fantasies have been about her, all of my wildest dreams. All of my imaginary scenarios. I don't want to be the guy that jerks off to secret pictures of her. Or even the memory of her, alone and desperate for her attention. But I am hopeless, and she has infiltrated my life now.

I look up at the wall, and she's calling my name. Long dark hair flying around her face as she attempts to still the wind inside of her. She doesn't know it, but she looked right at me, into my lens, into my fucking soul. Those questions. I wanted to answer every single one. I didn't want to be her patient.

I'm starting to feel that desperate pulling at my skin, to go to her. But I can't think her into existence any more than I can my pictures.

The sheets begin to tighten underneath me as my head hangs over the bed, just waiting for it to pass. But I can feel the softness of the cotton gripping me, and as it turns hard, turns to fear, sucking me in, crawling up my legs, I try to imagine it's her instead. This girl, she could be my girl. Someone to wrap my arms around, to tangle me in sheets, instead of this craze I'm feeling inside. I want to pin this girl to my wall, the dancing light from the street lamps shining a sound across her breasts as I touch every single part of her with every single piece of me. What I wouldn't give for that girl.

* * *

I thought about calling, I thought about emailing him through his website. But since the first time, I had really tried not to look again. Until yesterday when I failed, and saw that he had updated his portfolio with a new image of a woman. She was leaning against a wall, and it all looked so familiar. It was from far away and I couldn't see the expression on her face, but she seemed sad. She looked as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and she just needed a minute.

The woman was me.

Even if she hadn't really been me, I know I would have related nonetheless. Regardless of who she is, who he's looking at. He's telling me, he sees me.

The day after I made Edward leave early, I didn't feel ready to handle another session with Mr. Jones so soon. I knew he was going to be just as fiery, combative, and not at all the person I wanted on my couch that day.

I needed a minute to assure myself I did the right thing.

I hate that Edward has affected me this much; so much that I am questioning things I should be certain about.

Since mentoring juniors in high school, I have I known this was what I wanted to do. And even though I'm barely nine months into my first placement, I know it's right. Despite picking and choosing which lines I want to stick to, and whether this infatuation with a client is really that, I still know.

Professors marry students all the time, and surgeons fall in love with their patients when they know it's an abuse of power, a violation of ethics. Well, who decides that? Love is bigger than any rule. I'm not breaking the law, and I can live with my morals, and the choices I make. Whatever happened, will happen, I'm not any less competent in my job.

Except I was. Briefly. And I know trying to convince myself won't help my case. The truth is, I let Alec affect me as well. And in turn I threw Edward out. But what happened with Edward occurred purely because he...we had already crossed a line. The way I felt after Mr. Jones' first session was normal. He was hostile, and combative.

It was me. The reality is that it was me in that picture. It was me, the day after I told Edward he had to stop. But he didn't stop, just like I couldn't continue in that moment in my room with him. And a huge part of me was glad that he didn't stop. The flutters in the pit of my tummy are betraying my better, earlier judgements. The spinning inside my head is calling me out, laughing at me, taunting me for being such a fucking girl.

I am a strong, independant woman.

Apparently.

Or at least I thought I was.

So I thought about calling. About taking it all back. About asking him to meet me. We could be normal people in normal circumstances. I can officially end his sessions with me - I never notified Shelly or reported it to Hammond.

But I'm a coward.

So here I am.

Standing next to the rushing water, next to the faded colouring of the most beautiful sculpture I have ever seen. I am out past town, through the square and even past the market. And he wasn't wrong. I have never been this far out of the city. I have never been in so much trouble, in such deep water.

I don't really know what my intention is, and I've decided that might be okay. For now. Just this once.

I don't really know what my intention is, but I'm waiting for Edward Cullen. Just hoping he shows. Just hoping he has his camera, and that he doesn't see me. I've decided that might be okay. For now. Just this once.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_I would love to know what you're thinking, please leave a review! _

_Thank you! _  
_samrosey. XO_


	8. Desperately Seeking Edward

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

**_A/N: _**_Thanks to __ficfangirl for putting up with my madness. __  
_

* * *

_Desperately Seeking Edward_

**From: **Rose  
**To: **Edward  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:03PM  
_Where are you, stalker boy? x_

**From: **Edward  
**To: **Rose  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:11PM  
_What do you want?_

**From: **Rose  
**To: **Edward  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:13PM  
_Wanna come over? x_

**From: **Edward  
**To: **Rose  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:16PM  
_What for?_

**From: **Rose  
**To: **Edward  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:18PM  
_I don't know, sure we can think of something. x_

**From: **Edward  
**To: **Rose  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:23PM  
_Not in the mood._

**From: **Rose  
**To: **Edward  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:26PM  
_Pussy._

Rosalie Hale. Perfume, and handbags. She likes to play make-believe. This is a chick who uses accessories to try and make up for what she thinks she's lacking. In truth, if she just quit trying to be above it, she might realise no one gives a shit. The kind of guys she tends to go for are either filthy rich, or are five seconds away from being filthy rich. Typical douchebags, with a woman in every city. She's a walking cliché but I don't think she really wants what she's playing at, I mean she's pretty much said it before. Still, whenever I see her with a new guy, I swear I can't tell the fucking difference - same suit, same fucking attitude. And they always leave her. And she always just replaces them with the same. To be honest, I think she likes that, I think she's afraid. Afraid if one of them takes her seriously, she'll be stuck in that life forever.

I've never had sex with Rose. I can't say I haven't thought about it, and I won't say there haven't even been a few occasions that I've been tempted by the tease. She's hot, but honestly, I don't like her. Not really. I dislike the woman she puts on show for everyone. And it pisses me off that the girl underneath is just miserable. The thing is, I think she knows I see. I think she knows I see her, but she still pretends with me, and that's why I can't do it.

We almost kissed once. She asked me to come over, and we got wasted. I think the only reason I went was because I had just lost the spot at The Lighthouse Gallery to some fucking shit head from The West Collective. Fucking West Collective.

Fucking Rose.

I pull up my messages and start typing one out. I know I can't send it. I know I probably wouldn't, even if I had her number. But I really just want to know if the thing I was trying to bring to life in that room, on that fucking couch, would have made me happy. I was always in the mood on those days. I would have definitely kissed Bella Swan.

**From: **Edward  
**To: **I have no fucking idea.  
**Sent: **19 Jan 2013 11:45PM  
_I wish I knew how to get to you..._

* * *

_Before Edward_

"Be careful." Rocky calls out to me.

"I always am." I say back to no one at all after he heads out to set up. I finish getting ready, and decide on a pink bob with bangs. My eyes are sore from the blue contacts I've been wearing all night, so I take them out and reapply my lipstick.

When I go out to the bar area, I see Mike standing at the end of the hallway to the booths. There are six doors down this hallway. Dark green carpets with black trim line the floor. Three doors on each side, each one dark purple.

I look for Rocky to see if he's ready, and spot Marcus, one of the older security guys standing by the front entrance talking to a customer. The customer is young, and cute. I can only really see the side of his face, but he keeps messing with his hair, and fidgeting. It's adorable and awkward, and he makes me think back to my first customer.

I remember feeling so relieved. The first guy that I danced for was hot, and charming, and smelled really good. It was that moment really, when I told myself I wasn't in it just for the money. It was thrilling. I definitely needed it to help with college, but I wanted it to be more than that. This wasn't a career for me, and I only had a responsibility to myself - to have fun. And if at any point, I didn't enjoy it anymore, if at any point, the bad customers became frequent and it stopped being so much fun, I would get out.

Standing outside of door number two, I'm still looking at the guy with his hands in his hair. I smile at him when his eyes find me, hoping that he's my guy.

"Ready, B?" Rocky comes to stand in front of me, blocking my view.

"Ready." I head in, and the room is still empty. I walk up to the platform, and Rocky pulls the curtain across, so that I am shrouded in darkness. Waiting, hoping I see that messy hair again tonight.

* * *

_Today: 3.30pm_

I didn't see him again.

Until last Monday. It's been seven days.

When his eyes weren't on me, penetrating my very soul, I could concentrate on the rest of him. The scruff that has been growing since our first session. His different t-shirts that feel like some kind of inside joke. And every single time he messed with his hair, I wanted to laugh. A smile didn't feel like enough with Edward. With Edward I felt like I was bursting. Bursting with this new familiar feeling that crept inside me each day he showed up at my office.

I had a dream last night. I dreamt that I was stuck on a big pink float in the middle of the water. It was indoors so I know it wasn't the ocean, but it felt vast nonetheless. Each time I opened my eyes to look out, I saw Edward dancing on the other side of nowhere. He was trying to get to me. He was shaking his arms, and bending his knees, and he looked so silly. I was terrified when I closed my eyes, I didn't know how to get off. But each time I held my hand out, hoping he would reach me, I would see him, trying to get past this guy. The guy was Rocky. And then I remembered that night. Marcus was getting bugged by some guy at the door. I remember thinking he was sexy, and messy, and young, and cute. And I wanted to dance for him.

I woke up this morning and knew.

I had seen Edward before he ended up on my couch.

He followed me. Stalked me and showed up in my room. Not the room I had hoped. But he showed up anyway.

I can't explain this mess. I don't even want to, I'm so very much past it. I didn't tell Rocky I was coming here today because I knew he would think Edward was trouble, and that I was stupid for falling for it. I would tell him no, and he would come with me anyway.

So now I'm standing here, waiting for him to show up on a Sunday, when I don't even know if he still comes here at all. He spoke about it in our sessions, and it was in some of his more recent pictures on his website. I just hope. I don't really know what else to do. Just knowing he has been here, that he loves this place, brings us together a little more in some way. And I'm taking that. I'm taking that and holding on tightly to it, because right now, I'm scared I'm losing my fucking mind.

"Bella?"

I close my eyes, but this is not a dream, I won't wake up, and I am not stuck in the middle of nowhere to go.

"Bella, what are you..."

"I guess I'm stalking you now, huh."

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Uh-oh. I has the nervies. _

_How do you feel? I would love to know what you're thinking! _

_Please and thank you!_  
_samrosey. XO_


	9. Edward's Play

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

**_A/N: _**_ficfangirl catches the bad fish._

* * *

_Edward's Play _

_Before Bella_

Thursdays are my days off. Thursdays are days I take my Pentax to the park, when the morning sun is like marmalade dripping through the sky, the scattered flower beds like islands amassing a whole new world. A whole new world for me to pick at, and play with. To frame and shoot at.

_I'll have you. And I'll make you. Into something different. Or maybe a secret I'll pretend to own. You are everything and nothing, until I get into the darkroom._

I hold my breath as I point the camera.

_These are the moments I am making._

**From: **Jasper  
**To: **Edward  
**Sent: **10 Jan 2013 10:16AM  
_Isabella Swan, 261 Wheelers Fold, Ash Avenue. Couldn't get you a home address, or number._

**From: **Edward  
**To: **Jasper  
**Sent: **10 Jan 2013 10:19AM  
_Then what is this place?_

**From: **Jasper  
**To: **Edward  
**Sent: **10 Jan 2013 10:25AM  
_It'll cost ya extra, I'll call Rose._

**From: **Edward  
**To: **Jasper  
**Sent: **10 Jan 2013 10:27AM  
_Fuck you._

**From: **Jasper  
**To: **Edward  
**Sent: **10 Jan 2013 10:29AM  
_Offices mostly, privately leased. Six different signs out front, pick one._

**From: **Edward  
**To: **Jasper  
**Sent: **10 Jan 2013 10:32AM_Thanks, man._

* * *

_Today: 11:32am_

The water is hot, running memories along my skin from a time before. A time when hope actually felt like somewhere. Today, I don't want to look at the colours in the mirror.

The water doesn't cover my whole body, so I press down, submerging myself, trying hard for the water to engulf me. The water rises and flows over my tummy. I am warm.

I push, and pull, pulling myself under. Because under here, it's quiet. Under the water, I can hear only myself. Only my thoughts, only my fears. I don't see the faces of the people sitting on my couch, or the whiskey breath of a man who isn't mine.

Still, it feels like the world is moving on without me. I don't want that, so I will myself up to the surface, but the water is so calming it won't let me. The water is protecting me, covering me whole like this. I am warm.

I toss and turn to keep it, or to fight it, I'm not sure, so finally, I rest my head on the end of the tub exhausted. My ear pressed to what sounds like tin. The water is splashing against the sides as I breathe. Tin tin tin. I am warm.

But I do need to get out. I do need to start living my day again, I know that. I need to choose what to do next, and how I'll do it.

* * *

_Today 3.47pm_

She is just standing there. It's still light out, but the day is grey-blue. The light is my discipline, guiding me. She is just standing there, in my spot. Under my light. How could she know to come here?

I can't move. She is maybe twenty-five feet away from me, the other side of the fountain, just waiting. Is she waiting? Or looking? She could be here for the same reasons I am. This place is beautiful. This place is like the secret passage to the city, only I think everybody else forgot about it.

I told her. I told her about this place.

She came here for me?

She didn't come here for me, she has no idea.

The wind is picking up, and I don't want to miss this. I don't want to waste this day. I have as much right to it as her.

I can't move though. I don't know what I decided or how I decided it as the shutter goes off in my hand. She is my focal point, and I am something altogether new. I hold my breath, my heart is racing. I press it again, and move closer. I hold my breath, my body is jumping ahead of my thoughts, and I don't know what I'll even say.

"Bella..." But she doesn't turn around. "Bella, what are you..."

"I guess I'm stalking you now, huh." She is cloudy, somber. She is the girl with no shoes from the first night at the club. She is pink hair and cherry lips.

Her sadness is like a bomb exploding in my chest. But the sight of her creeps into my spine, the tips of my fingers, my cock, and down my legs all over.

"What's wrong?" I ask, because I'm stupid and I don't care.

She stares at me for whole minutes, it feels like, minutes of silence before she finally answers me.

"Why didn't you just pay for a dance?"

"You want me to pay for you?" I don't know which, if either, answer is less offensive than the other.

"Did you know there were rules?" She asks me as she sits on the ledge of the fountain.

"Rules?"

"Therapy. That I would be your doctor and that there are rules?"

I do know that. I did know that. I'm selfish, and didn't care. Didn't think to care.

"Are there rules at the club?" I'm running away like a coward. Avoiding.

"It's not the same."

"Why not? People pay for a service. You...serve." Fuck. I'm an idiot.

She doesn't say anything. More silence. The moment I saw this girl, I was sucked in. I don't know about love at first sight, or even love at all really. Except that I want it. I know what it is to be consumed. Consumed by art, creativity. I am consumed by desire, and my own lust. What I do know, is that I've done things in the past week, crossed lines, and boundaries, my own, other people's. I've fucked this up, and then got another chance. Or maybe not, but here she is.

I do the only thing I know how to right now.

I take her picture.

And she lets me.

Strands of pink are licking at her face, the wind is heavy, and she is watching me as I lift my camera. And as I take it away. Lift again, and shoot. Every single time I press the shutter, she blinks. Like I'm taking something away from her. But she continues to let me, and when I stand by her feet, she parts her legs. She opens her legs for me, and I step forward. She doesn't blink now, she just stares at me. I want to ask her why. Why is it okay now? I want to tell her all the reasons I can't stop looking at her, but I don't know where to start, or if it would just push her away again. I want to keep shooting, as if it will somehow give me more of her, but I'm scared that's exactly what she's afraid of.

I put the camera down on the stone. I put my camera down and hope that she doesn't stop me. With two fingers, I take the strand of hair, and move it out of the way, pushing it to the side. She's staring at me, staring at her. She's creamy white soft, and pink cheeks adorable, and I don't know why but I'm smiling.

"What?" She asks, as if I know the answer.

I don't know what she wants, but I know I don't want her to leave. I don't want to do anything that makes her question this. She came here for reasons, reasons she hasn't told me yet. I don't know what finally made her push past all of the rules. I don't know anything but this feeling of having her here right now.

* * *

My face is hot, my cheeks are burning, I am stuck in a state of fear and doubt. He makes me feel as if I'm the only person in the world. He just wants to look at me, take my picture, and if he can, if I'll let him, get closer to me.

My face is hot, my cheeks are burning, and the moment his soft, cool fingers touch me, I am sure.

I am moving above water now, free without the weight of whatever held me down this morning. I am warm, getting cooler. Feeling safer, easy moving light as his fingers trace lines along my cheek.

"I've been waiting for you." He says into the air, like an echo from far away, and I know he doesn't mean here, today.

"You feel nice." I tell him. Because I don't know what else exists. I just know that this morning was the loudest number I have ever felt. And now, I am countless, I am unable. I am just existing.

Edward feels nice. And I like it. I really like it.

* * *

**_Chapter 10 preview_**

"I don't know what I'm doing with you." I am paralysed with a strange fear that I have to move that way, so she can move this way, or else we won't be moving at all.

"Me either."

"But I don't want it to stop," I tell her, with as much fucking truth as I can give.

"Me either."

* * *

_**A/N:** _

_Do you remember in school when you were a kid, whenever it was someone's birthday, the birthday girl or boy would bring in chocolates or sweets to share with everyone?  
__  
*whispers* Today is my birthday. _

_*shouts* And this is my candy! _

_Hope you enjoyed it! _  
_I would love to know what you're thinking. Please leave a review! _

_Thank you._  
_samrosey. XO  
_


	10. Patient Bella

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

**_A/N: _**_Thank you to ficfangirl.__  
_

* * *

_Patient Bella_

_Alistair - Monday: 11.00am_

"How are you, Bella?"

"A little all over the place. I don't know, I feel like I'm going crazy to be honest. How are you?"

"What's making you feel crazy?"

"I had two new clients this week."

"Do you want to tell me about them?"

"You've always told me that what happens outside of therapy isn't our...isn't _your_ responsibility. What about as a client, what about me, us? We've never bumped into each other outside of this room, so you might have this extravagant lifestyle, doing things I never..."

"Are you curious about that?"

"Not about you. I mean, I'm talking about... I'm having some boundary issues."

"Tell me specifically, Bella."

"Does it get easier?"

"Keeping the boundaries? It depends on the situation. We all have patients that we end up caring for more than others. Patients that affect us on a greater level than others do. If you're talking about your life outside of your work, have they come together in some way?"

"Not exactly. I just wonder sometimes."

"That's perfectly natural, to think about being seen by a patient, to come into contact outside of therapy. It usually comes up in sessions, before it actually happens though."

"What about transference?"

"Transference is..."

"Erotic transference."

"What about it?"

"Have you ever had a client act as though they're...as though they like you more than they should?"

"Have one of your patients expressed such feelings for you?"

"Does it happen both ways, does it happen the other way around, I mean?"

"You mean, can a therapist fall in love with their patient?"

"Yes."

"Of course. But you have to ask yourself all of the relevant questions. You know that. And you have to talk about it here, in therapy, Bella, and with your supervisor. Have you met with your supervisor over this?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because... Well, isn't it obvious why?"

"Nothing's obvious. Finish the sentence, Bella."

"Because then it's like I'm confessing. Because then I'm really breaking the rules. And I... I don't want this to be my life."

"Has it become your life?"

"It feels like it."

"What has actually happened? Tell me about the patient."

"No. I... At first I thought maybe it _was_ transference. But... He knew me before. Or saw me before or something, and so it's real for him. I was never in the therapist role for him. But I don't think I know what's real for me."

"What do you feel?"

"When I'm with him, I feel like I'm, I'm above the world somehow. I feel everything that I'm not used to feeling, and all of the other things I usually feel, fall away."

"What's your biggest fear about being a therapist, Bella?"

"That I'll miss something. That a client will hurt themselves. That I couldn't help them, that I wasn't enough."

"You know you can only be responsible for what happens _in _therapy. Not what happens outside of therapy. You just said that to me."

"I know. I do know. It's just hard. The second new client I had this week, he stormed out. And I let him. That was hard."

"Let's go back to your other patient, do _you_ think it's transference?"

"Edward. His name is Edward. And... No, I don't really think it's transference."

"Tell me about before, Bella? Tell me about why you think nothing's real."

"You know about before. You already know everything."

"I want you to say it so you can hear it."

"My mother left me, and my father died."

"What else?"

"Do we have to, Alistair?"

"Yes. Tell me."

"There's a list. Want me to write them down?"

"Tell me."

"I have obsessive tendencies. An addictive personality."

"Go on."

"I'm needy, and I'm not needed in return."

"Why do you feel that nobody needs you?"

"Because my mother left, she didn't want me, so if she didn't want me, then..."

"No, that's not it. Say it so you can hear it."

"I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"That I won't be needed by other people. That I'm not enough to be needed."

"Needed by who?"

"Clients. A potential lover, someone I need just as much."

"So tell me what you know about this patient."

"Edward."

"Tell me what you know about Edward."

"I know that... I know that outside of the sessions, when I'm at home, I am constantly obsessing about how I feel, wishing it were different. I'm still writing it all down, measuring my moods. But... When I'm with him, I don't have to _think_ about what I feel, or what I could feel. Because I know what I know, and despite what the rules are telling me, what my thoughts are on how I _should_ feel, they just don't feel that important compared."

"What do you know, Bella?"

"It's not transference."

"Is that okay? To know that. To be definite about that?"

"I think so. I want it to be. He never let me be his therapist. Not really."

"There are still ethics, the rules you agreed to follow when a patient walks into your office."

"I'm not his doctor. I feel like he never...he never even let me start the process."

"Will you speak about this with your supervisor?"

"I don't plan to."

"Okay, we'll talk more next time. You can call me, we can move back to weekly sessions if you'd like."

"Thanks, Alistair."

"Goodbye, Bella."

* * *

The wedding was stuffy. It was way too long, full of oppressive chatter, and hymns that began to lull me in the worst way. I stood at the back, as if it was me about to walk up that aisle. Except, I had no bride. I looked for her though, as if she would appear underneath one of the enormous hats, or out of the tears from the mother, the sister. Too many faces, and not a single one was her. I stood underneath their God, and their people, framing perfect memory after perfect memory, and I was hot and sticky, aching and restless. By the end of the dinner reception, my shirt was stuck to my back, my sleeves rolled up past my elbows, and every time we set up a new shot, a little boy in a blue suit, would run in front of the camera. "_Harry_. _Harry_." They called out to him, until the bride finally said, _"Leave him, it doesn't matter." _Every single thing mattered on this day, from the flowers, to the seating, to how hot the roast was, and how bright the lights were. Hair was in perfect place, and speeches were read from cards, rehearsed a hundred times. But little Harry, not him, he never made it into the group photo. He never made it into the picture with just his sister and their parents. Everything was so perfect, everything except for the really important things. The people who count, Harry being one of them, one of the ones that should matter. It was all so fucked up, and I got sick of watching pretty fast.

I'm sitting on the fountain now, wishing I could get a do over. It's so cold, I have goosebumps, but it feels amazing, and slowly, I can feel the stress of the morning fading away. I'm waiting for Bella, and she's late. A part of me thinks she won't come. That she regrets showing up yesterday, and letting me in.

There's a tiny hole in the wall, a little caféon the other side of the courtyard, so I decide to get us drinks. Once inside, I realise I don't know what she likes, so I order four different kinds from a woman with thick-rimmed glasses, and too-long nails that stab my thumb when she hands over the change. She smiles at me when I leave and fixes her glasses as if they're out of place.

When I get back, she's waiting for me. Long dark hair perfect, that she pushes behind her ear as she sees me, smiling beautiful.

"You left this here. Anybody could have taken it," she says, her fingers gripping the top of my tripod.

"Nah. I knew you were coming. Here..." I set the drinks down in the egg carton holders they came in, hoping she likes one of the choices. "I got tea, coffee, hot chocolate, and, I took a chance on this strawberry swirl thing."

"For me?"

"For us," I say. And I feel like a teenager on his first ever date. "Wanna sit?" I sit with my legs open across the stone, one foot dangling over the side where there would be water. But this fountain is ancient, all dried up, and nowhere to go.

She mirrors me, and grabs a cup.

"Strawberry swirl. It smells like my dreams," she says inhaling the fruity steam, and I feel like this girl could crush me just by breathing.

I picked the chocolate, and it scalds my tongue, so I put it down, trying not to get tempted to pick it back up. Neither one of us is speaking, but it's not awkward, it's just...new. She's waiting for me to talk, and I'm waiting to see if she will leave.

"You make me nervous," I finally say, and I'm not really sure why I said it, except for the fact that it's true.

"I do?" she says as she cocks her head to the side.

"Fuck yeah."

"Why are you nervous, Edward?"

"Don't shrink me," I say bluntly, regretting my tone immediately.

"I'm sorry. Don't... Don't go," she says. I think she's nervous too, considering the fact that I thought she was going to leave, but she was the one to actually say it.

"Where am I going?" I ask her like she could know my answer, though for all I know, she does. She was the one to just show up here yesterday.

"I don't know. Back to your life." She says it like she thinks I have someone waiting for me. Things waiting for me. "You have a lot of equipment today.

"I just came from a wedding."

"Oh yeah? That's exciting," she says, and her eyes are smiling.

"Is it? I don't know, my job is pretty lonely really."

"Are you lonely?"

"Is that coming from Bella the therapist, or Bella the..." What? What is she?

"I just want to know. Isn't that enough?" She's asking me.

"How do I know which side is the side of you I'm getting?" It feels complicated.

"Why do you only have to get one side?"

"Don't I?"

"I don't know," she says, and I know it's true, because I have no fucking clue either, except I know that I want it all, all the sides.

"I don't know what I'm doing with you." I am paralysed with a strange fear that I have to move that way, so she can move this way, or else we won't be moving at all.

"Me either."

"But I don't want it to stop," I tell her, with as much fucking truth as I can give.

"Me either." And her fingers tap, tapping against the half empty strawberry swirl, make us both smile.

She moves closer to me, and picks the cup back up, as if it's a shield, or maybe a barrier. I don't know if what she's offering me, if she's offering me anything at all, comes with more boundaries, less than before but more than I'd like and I don't want to risk asking.

"Bella..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna maybe... Maybe we should just hang out. At my place. Or dinner..." Smooth. Really fucking smooth. She's going to say no, and I don't blame her, not one bit. Except I would, because I really want her to say yes.

"I'm dancing tonight."

"On a Monday?" I don't like it. I don't know where it came from, it just feels shitty. Like I'm being stung. I'm being stung over and over in my back, and I want it to stop. I want her to stop. Not for good, just tonight. She could be dancing for me, should be dancing for me. Fuck, I want to be the one to see her tonight. I want to be the one to get hard because she's so fucking sexy moving around me smelling like cake. I want to be the one thinking of nothing but taking her right fucking there.

"Not usually, but tonight, yeah. Tomorrow though? We can hang out, you can show me your place. If you want." Is this a test? It feels like a test.

"I want." I definitely want.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Your lovely birthday messages made me giddy. *hugs you all* _

_Lots of talk in this chapter... What are your thoughts? I would love to know! _  
_Please and thank you!_

_samrosey. XO_


	11. Bella Exposed

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_When I feel like packing it all in, ficfangirl knows I'll always come back... _

* * *

_Bella Exposed_

I thought about telling Rocky about Edward. I thought about telling Rocky I was sick, and didn't want to do this tonight. I could have him call in for me, and tell them I couldn't make it.

I didn't do any of those things, and now I'm here.

Sequins, feathers and lies.

Sweat, whiskey, and dirty laughter.

"Doloris."

I pretend not to care that he got my name wrong, or that it isn't even my name at all, and smile.

"Doloris, over here." He grabs my arm and pulls me closer.

I look over at the door. Marcus is sitting on his stool paying no attention to any of the girls, let alone me. I find Rocky and Mike, and they are watching us, watching all of us at the same time it feels like. I feel better now. I feel not like I'm being bruised by this man as he pulls me, roughly, towards him. I feel not sick. I feel good. I feel okay. This night only happens three times a year, that's all. Just three. I've done it before, and I can do it now.

Except, I really don't want to.

"How much for the whole night, Doloris?"

"Wrong girl, mister. See V at the bar." I point over to the redhead, and hope he takes my cue.

"Ah, come on. Stunner like you. You could be making a killin'." I've danced for this guy twice a month since I started working here, he should be familiar. He should be pleasant to talk to. But I'm not Bella right now, and he doesn't give a fuck what my rules are.

"Not me, Ty. Take your pick." I gesture to the room full of half naked girls.

"I just did." He pulls me closer, and I fall hard into his lap, my feet disappearing from underneath me. He knows better than this. I try to stand but his grip is firm.

"Tyler." Rocky slams his hands down on the man's shoulders, holding him in place. Ty finally lets go of me, reluctantly.

"I was just playin', see..." He slaps my ass as I stand, and I really want to turn around and punch this guy in the face. But I don't. What's the point? "No harm, no foul." He says, holding his hands in the air.

I walk away, and stand against the bar. I nod to V, and she pours me a shot.

"You okay?" Rocky comes up next to me, and even though I'm hot from dancing, he feels warm, and I like it.

"Peachy." I slam the glass down, and feel the burn.

"Bella." I can't take this.

"Emmett." I say, and he knows I'm not fucking around.

"Forty minutes, just forty minutes left of this shit."

"Yeah, and then I have to dance for one of them."

He smiles at me, and I wonder what he's thinking about. What he really thinks of me, and this job.

"I'm here, B. Right here. All night."

"I know." I reach up, and I... I don't know what. Stroke his face. What? It feels weird, I've never done it before. Usually, I would punch him in the arm, or he would squeeze me into a hug so tight I can't feel anything anymore. That's the way I like it.

I pull my hand away, and he looks...like he feels sorry for me.

* * *

Everything looks just how I remember it from that night I got wasted and ducked out on Seth, everything except me apparently. Seth dropped by my place this afternoon on his lunch break and asked me all these questions about what I've been doing, and who I've been doing it with. Seems Jasper told him about the money I sent his way, either that or Rose. Fucking Rose.

Just as I think I'm heading somewhere new, they think I'm isolating myself from everybody I used to see, and everything I used to want. Bullshit. As if we were all just hanging out every fucking night. As if anyone else noticed that I didn't get the space, and now I won't exhibit for another fucking year because it costs so much to apply in the first place. As if any of those fuckers noticed Rose is so goddamn lonely. Her 'new' boyfriend is the same guy who left her in France last summer with no ticket to get home. Whatever came before I set foot in this place the first time, that's done. I'm done being the dude on the outside looking in. I saw what I wanted, and now I'm fucking taking it.

Nearing the top of the stairs, I notice the jazz music is gone. Only the sexy hard sounds of After Dark play now. Louder and louder it becomes, until I reach the top, and I see the big lights are all out, not like before, and not like before, the girls are all on the floor, dancing. Dancing out in the open. Men surround them, leaving no gaps, leaving no air for them to breathe. A grind this way, a shake that way. They're all just touching.

What happened to the rules?

* * *

The music is still playing, the clock is about to start. Sixty seconds to pick your girl.

The lights go out. The music seems louder.

The room gets smaller. Hands are everywhere.

It's light enough to see the outline of every girl, and every guy. Feel the hands up my skirt.

The music is deafening. My head is spinning.

It must have been a minute by now. I'm here, I'm there. I'm being torn apart.

The room is light again now. Louder now. The music plays on repeat.

I am high, my feet don't touch the ground.

Rocky is in my ear. He is wrapped around my body as he carries me towards the stairs.

* * *

"What happened? What's going on? Bella? Bella, it's me." The lights came up, the shouting started, and I found her.

"Dude, step back." The big guy carrying Bella says to me. And I've got this. This is the bodyguard, the guy from Screwballs.

"No, it's okay. Look, I'm her friend."

"Sure." He pushes past me and heads down the stairs, carrying her in his arms like a fucking hero white knight.

"No. You don't understand. She doesn't dance for me. I just... I'm Edward. We're...I don't know, okay. Hey..." I pull him back when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, and if he wasn't holding the girl of my fucking dreams in his arms right now, I think he would be punching my face. But she's worth it, and I'm not leaving until he talks to me.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

"I don't want a fight, I just want to know if she's okay?" He stands there staring at me for a few seconds before telling me to follow him, and I don't know if he's just waiting until he can put her down before punching my face or what, but I follow him anyway.

"Keys." He says, and stops next to a black truck. It's huge, and so is he. I shove my hand in his jacket pocket and find the keys, hitting the central locking as soon as I have them. He nods for me to open the back door, and I do. "Get in." Again, am I just waiting for him to fuck me up?

I get in and sit. As I do, he leans in with Bella, and together we place her on the seat next to me, her head in my lap.

"No fucking funny business. I'll be watching you."

"I would never..." I'm appalled by what he's implying, sad that he had to say that, and even more grateful that she has this guy looking out for her.

"What's wrong with her? Are we going to the hospital?" He gets in, and pulls out of the alley. He doesn't answer me, and just as I'm about to ask again, Bella takes me hand.

"Edward." She is cold, shaking, and clinging to me as she hides her face in my shirt.

"It's okay, Bella. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here now."

* * *

**_Chapter 12 preview_**

She's pressed into me, surrounded by white snow, and secrets out in the open. They can't hurt me, won't make me go. They only make me want her more. Impossibly more.

"I'm going to kiss you now," I tell her, and wait for her to say no.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_How do you feel? What are you thinking? _  
_Come talk to me, I would love to know if you're into it... _

_Please and thank you! _  
_samrosey. XO_


	12. Explaining Bella

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_ficfangirl gets rid of the bad stuff. I thank her lots.__  
_

* * *

_Explaining Bella_

He carried me out from the car, with the help of Rocky, and when we got inside he just stood there, not knowing what to do. I pointed toward the bedroom. I felt weak. I felt tired, sad and unmoving. He was there. He was right there watching me meltdown. Together they had rescued me...from myself.

Or maybe I'm destined to go back, and this will have been for nothing.

I pull the covers up and wrap them around me. I just want to lie here and not face it.

I can hear their muffled voices from the other room, and wish I knew what they were saying.

After a few minutes, I hear the door shut, and then nothing. Did he leave? Did they both leave?

Then I hear it open again.

"Bells." It's Rocky. Just breathe.

I can't answer. He knows the drill.

"Bella, it's just me." He pulls back the covers, pulling my hair in the process. Except it's not my hair. "Come on, let's get you out of this stuff."

I nod. And he helps me out of bed. This has happened before. I want to say only once, or maybe even just twice. But the truth is, it happens often.

I am the mess I try to fix.

I am the broken I presume to know how to heal.

A joke.

"Don't do that. I see you disappearing on me. Don't, okay? Just hang on." I hold onto Rocky's shoulders as he takes my shoes off, and then my tights. I think about unclipping the pins from my cap and taking my wig off, but I can't lift my arms.

I want to tell him to stop, not because I mind, or because I don't want him to touch me, to help me. I do. I do want that. I need it. But because somewhere in here, somewhere inside me, I know I should fight to do this myself. I shouldn't let him, or anyone else, see me like this.

But I do. And I am. Letting him. Because the sadness is winning. And I can feel every wave of it as it crashes into me. Over and over.

My shoes gone. My tights gone. Wig now too. He lifts my arms above my head, and gently pulls my dress up. I close my eyes because I don't want to see the look on his face.

Rocky is made of true. He can't hide anything.

I don't know why he sticks around. Why he loves my crazy. Why he takes care of me.

My dress is gone now. And I'm cold. Cold and small, and I want to hide.

"Here." He hands me my robe, and I take it.

I do know why. I do know why he's here. Why he loves me.

First year of college. I had blue hair, and he wore this black and yellow puffy jacket that made him look like a giant bumble bee. But he was still just as tough, and we became friends fast. Mr Berty made us sit together for our final major project, telling us we could each use the balance. I didn't know what he meant at the time. But he was right. Rocky was only known as Emmett back then, and he was shy, and a little closed off. He needed a little guidance. I was blue all over, drowning in my own sadness just like today. My father had just died, and he made me smile. Helping him, helped me. It wasn't too long before he became my everything. My safe place. My rock.

I moved in with him and his family the second year of college when my neighbour reported me to the housing association. I was technically squatting after all. After Charlie died, I had nothing, not really. When the small amount of money left from his life insurance ran out, I couldn't pay the rent anymore. I just hoped no one would notice. Nobody did of course, for a while.

So, he's always been there, you see. Rocky.

"Rocky." Hot tears roll down my face.

"Don't even say it."

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up. Just, shut up." If this were any other day, I'd be laughing, I'd be trying to hide it, but I'd be laughing.

"Thank you."

"Hey." He puts his hands on my shoulders and stares at me, straight in the face. "You can thank me when you call Alistair tomorrow, to make an appointment."

I nod. I will. I know I need to.

"Rocky," I say as he lets go of me. "Is...Edward...?"

"He's in the other room. Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"I..." I don't know. Though, somehow I don't think he's going to buy that. "It's not anything that I can give a name."

"Fair enough."

"But, he's still here?"

"He's worried, B. You should talk to him. Or tell him to go home. Whatever you need."

"Are you...?" I don't want to kick him out. He's so fucking good to me, how rotten would that make me? "Are you staying?"

He laughs, he knows me so well. "Don't worry. Just make sure it's what you want. Not what you think you need. Okay?"

"Okay," I say, promising him.

"I'll call you tomorrow. Make sure you eat." He leans in and kisses my head.

The familial bond that we have, it's like magic. Like nothing I've ever felt. Not since Charlie. I don't know what I would do without him.

* * *

"Hey," she says as she walks into the room. The big guy left twenty minutes ago. And for twenty minutes, I thought about going in there and... And what? Exactly. I didn't even know if she knew I was still here. I feel like I don't know anything except that I'm scared to death that she's going to throw me out.

"Hey." I run my hands along my jeans, trying to fucking steady my shaky hands, but it's not working.

She sits down next to me, dressed in a blue robe. Her hair is down, a curly mess, and it's sexy as hell. Her lips are stained with make-up, and her eyes are puffy. She's beautiful. So beautiful.

"I like you like this."

"Like what? I'm a mess, Edward."

"No, I... I didn't mean that. You're..." I take a breath, a big breath so loud, and turn to face her on the couch. "You're like, open. You know? More than usual. You're so pretty."

"Oh."

"I shouldn't have said that. Fuck, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"No. But not because of what you said."

"What's going on? Will you tell me? Will you just tell me? Because that other guy, he wouldn't tell me anything. And I..."

"Rocky."

"Well, Rocky wouldn't tell me anything."

"Why are you here, Edward?"

"What?" I don't get this girl. Not one bit. She's making me fucking crazy.

"Am I supposed to just tell you all my secrets. Cry on your shoulder. And then what? You leave?"

She is the most animated I have ever seen her. Her voice is loud, and scratchy, breaking under the weight of her own words. Her eyes are stuck in a constant state of crying. Any moment now, I feel like more tears will come.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"How do you know that? You can't know that."

"I know I don't know you. I don't even know how old you are, or where you went to school, how long you've lived here. I know nothing about your family, or what you dream about, and I don't know what the fuck happened tonight but... I know me. I know I can't stop thinking about you. I know that you're fucking crazy, sucking me in with your greatness, and then pushing me away with... You're sad. I get it. Don't you think I see that? I see. I see you. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere."

Her mouth is open, her eyes are shining. I am spilled out on the fucking table. And I've really done it now. I close my eyes, and wait for the shove. The big kick in the face telling me no. Get out. I'm done.

* * *

His lips are cool. A little wet. And really, really soft.

He had his eyes closed. He said all of this stuff about me, about him, and about how he sees me, and then he closed his eyes. It was like a test. It felt like he was saying he trusts me. And that I should trust him.

So I kissed him.

Just for a few seconds. Just long enough to feel.

He opened his eyes, and began to move his mouth, but it was too much. And I pulled away.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologise," he says. And he has this look on his face. Like, an animal, like a baby animal looking at something new for the first time.

* * *

She makes tea. And soup. She brings out bread. And biscuits. And I think she's avoiding.

She lunged at me with her perfect fucking mouth, and planted her lips on mine, not long enough for me to hold her there, or savour her touch. And I want it back.

I want a do over.

Another shot to make it the best first kiss of all time.

But she got up and went into the kitchen, and keeps just bringing things out to me.

This time I don't let her, this time when she comes back in, only to try and leave again to get more things neither of us want, I grab her by the wrist. I grab her gently, and stop to feel her pulse under my fingers.

Thump thump thump.

I'm trying to tell her I just want her to stop. She doesn't have to be afraid. I pull her in a little and she sits next to me.

"Tell me."

She grabs the napkins that she brought out with the soup and starts to twist them, and fold them, and twirl them between her fingers.

"I had a panic attack." She begins to tear at one of the napkins. In half and then at the corners.

"Do you have them often?"

"Yes." A small pile of shredded tissue is sitting in her lap. "And I will continue to have them."

"Do you take anything for them? Can you?"

"No. I used to, but... Not anymore."

"Do you know what causes them?" She tears the last napkin in half and starts to shred each piece, until they're like tiny feathers.

"Don't try to fix me."

"Why not?"

"I don't want that. I just want..." She stops shredding. She's just thinking. Just waiting for something to be right.

She picks up the pieces, balls them up in both hands and just, throws them. Throws them up in the air. A shower of white leaves come down around us, flying slowly. I don't know if it's right but if feels like the most important thing in this moment. I pull her by the waist, careful not to hurt her, but hard enough for her to know I mean it. She comes with me as I move back, my leg up on the couch. She's pressed into me, surrounded by white snow, and secrets out in the open. They can't hurt me, won't make me go. They only make me want her more. Impossibly more.

"I'm going to kiss you now," I tell her, and wait for her to say no. But she doesn't. She only breathes, as I breathe. Mouth to mouth, her air giving me new life. Softly, sweet, as my lips touch hers. It's slow, and unmoving. Just our lips, just this kiss to tell her I'm in.

She begins to move, kissing me back. She is whimpers and lust against me as I part my mouth to get her to do the same. My hand finds her face, her warm skin underneath my cool fingers feels like waking up in Spring. I wish I could see this. I wish I were standing over there as we kiss. I would capture it with my camera, and keep it forever.

* * *

His mouth is brand new, and I don't know which way he'll move next. Until he parts his lips and I feel his tongue. He is cool, and warm, and sexy strong against my body. His hand holds my face close to him, as if I'll try to leave, and he won't let me.

I tongue his mouth softly at first, unsure how much to give, how much to take. He shifts underneath me and pulls me on top of him, and I know.

He is open for me, like the sky when it's blue. Endless, and curious. How hard it is to look at so much beauty, but you just can't not.

My hands find his hair, his sexy, perfect, wild hair. His hands are on my back, pulling me, stroking me, trying to get inside.

I can't breathe for the air I know I need, and I don't care.

And then he stops.

No more kissing.

No more hands.

Just still.

I am the animal panting for more.

He is the sex I want.

"Bella... I want you."

I nod. All I can do is nod.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_I hope you enjoyed it! _

_If you read my other story Lumina, it is currently in a poll of Top Ten Completed Fics of March over at TwiFanfictionRecs. You can vote every 24 hours until May 1st. So go vote for your favourites!  
__twifanfictionrecs 2013 / 04 /01 / vote-for-your-top-ten-completed-fics-march-2013 /_

_Please and thank you!  
__samrosey. XO_


	13. Lovers To Start With

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**__  
_

**_A/N: _**_She makes the good stuff, even better. Her name is ficfangirl._

* * *

_Lovers To Start With_

I am the animal panting for more.

He is the sex I want.

"Bella... I want you."

I nod. All I can do is nod.

His fingertips are drops of rain as they tickle my skin. He brings me closer to him, and pulls me down onto the couch so he is on top of me. The soft blue of my robe parts, exposing my legs. I am seen. He is the one who sees me.

I'm scared to close my eyes. I just want to know what he's thinking. Each touch is a new tell across his face. Each kiss calls for something louder.

I take his face in my hands as he positions himself between my legs. His palm holding my thigh, is a hot hand dangling me over the fire.

His eyes are fields of green, endless yeses rolling out in front of me. I can't think. I try to make my words whole for him.

"You make me feel dizzy."

"Good."

His lips take mine, kissing me forever, like magnets, never parting. I hold on just like before, to keep him right here.

His body hovers over mine like a stone above glass. I want him to break me. Shatter me into pieces for him to keep.

His tongue in my mouth feels like hunger. Stop thinking. Stop thinking.  
His hand moving further up my leg feels like pain. Stop doubting. Stop doubting.

I push his hoodie off his shoulders, asking him. He pulls himself free, and throws it on the floor. I grip his shirt, begging him. He yanks it over his head, and it lands on the coffee table.

He is breath after breath, resting between my legs looking down at me. Hot, dirty boy, and milky white lines make this Godlike creature.

I want to undo the ties of my robe, and show myself to him. I want to dance underneath him, the only dance I know.

* * *

This girl is soft in all the right places. She is sugar on the tip of my tongue, sweet. She makes my knees weak, and my heart beat.

I don't know who's more fucking nervous right now as I look into her beautiful brown eyes. I'm scared to push her too far. I'm afraid she'll regret this, regret me.

She is looking at me with words I can't hear.

Speak them!

Tell me!

I want to lift her into me, press my skin against hers and feel her tremble. I want to hear her moan for me.

Her fingers dance around the opening of her robe, and I feel like she's asking me. I feel like just ripping it open. She's not teasing me though. She's not playing with me. She looks unsure. She looks shy up against this lust before us.

I take her fingers in mine and bend to kiss them. She runs one of them across my mouth, and I take one in my teeth and catch her.

She is mesmerised. I am hard.

I suck the tip to taste her, and pull at her robe, distracting her from whatever insecurity she fears.

She pulls her hand away and raises her arms above her head, and into her hair, it slips through her fingers, like a nervous habit. She takes a deep breath, readying herself for my observation of her body.

She is fucking insane if she believes for even one second that what I have to say is bad.

"Wow." That's not it, though. I can do better. I mean more. So much more. I run my fingers along the side of her body and watch her squirm in delight. I dip my thumb into the cup of her bra and pull a little. As I do, she moves beneath me, her hips against me. "You are so sexy, Bella. Can I please fuck you now?"

Her mouth parts, her eyes widen. She continues to move against me in response.

"Yes. Yes, please." She whimpers against my mouth before I take hers with my own, kissing her hard.

* * *

He is hands all over me, skin against skin. He is tongue and thrusts, and it's too much, not enough. More, I want more.

He pulls at my knickers, the pink ruffles I chose to dance in, and growls as he pulls them down my legs.

I feel like my entire life, I have longed for someone to want me the way I want them. To want me like this, how he wants me. That my sexuality up until now has simply been me wanting that other person to really take the time. Nobody ever took the time.

Edward bunches my panties in his hands and looks at me with...desire, with a question. Whatever it is, he doesn't wait for the answer, and brings the soft ruffles up to his face and buries himself in them.

Growls.

Sexy boy growls.

He throws them away with the rest of his clothes and begins to unbutton his jeans. The moment I see his underwear, I think about doing with them what he just did. I think about his hard dick. And how it will look.

He pulls me by the legs towards him, and pushes his grey boxer briefs down to reveal himself to me.

Long.

Thick.

Hard.

And wet.

I want to lick him. I want to lick him all over.

He takes himself, stroking, jerking, up and down slowly, looking at me, he moans softly.

Now. I need him now. I won't survive another minute if he doesn't just take me now.

* * *

She is bare. Spread open before me.

I'm afraid I'll come before she gets to.

I am afraid this will be the best thing I have ever felt. And that it won't last because she has issues. Real fucked up issues.

I don't care. I don't care what's eating away at her insides.

I'm not going anywhere. If she's burnt, I'll take her burnt. If she thinks she's ruined, I'll gladly make her mine. She thinks she's a mess, well I'll take this fractured Bella over any other, on any day. Now, right fucking now, I'll take whatever she has to give me.

I press myself to her, tummy to tummy, and kiss her softly, slowly, one little bit at a time until she's bobbing for more. Until she's rubbing her pussy against me for the things we both know we want.

* * *

He's teasing me. He's being all boyish, and pulling at my strings.

Pull. Pull some more.

Pull me until I snap.

I thrust against him once more and feel him slip against me, wet, warm. His breath hitches in my mouth at the contact. I thrust against him and he moves with me, entering me just a little, just the tip, and it's big, all encompassing, and so right. He's kissing me, and I can't breathe. Fuck me. Fuck me. And I will love you.

"Bella..."

What? What?

"Bella..." I thrust and he slides in a little more. "You are so tight." I buck, and he plunges into me, fighting to get to that best feeling, through the tightness of my pussy, through the uncertainty of before. His moans against my lips tickle. His face this close to my own is like a secret.

He lifts my leg, and somehow climbs deeper. I cry out each time he finds me new.

I don't know what to hold, where to grab, what my hands should be doing. Because my whole body is being rocked by this boy. My whole body is being fucked by this boy as he moves above me, with me, in me.

There are no words for what is happening, for what we're doing, and how it feels. We communicate with our eyes, and he never looks away, or down, or anywhere else but at me.

I'm telling him, yes, more, like that, oh god, don't stop, don't stop, I feel like I'm exploding, as if I will actually break, or die, it feels so good. It feels so good.

* * *

She is tight, hot, and soaking. Her body is mine, her screams are my dreams come true.

I want to tell her I've never felt this. I've never felt like I'm on the edge of the fucking world, pushing, pushing, and fucking until I'm so close to falling, it's too much for me to take.

"Slow down," she says, as she begins to really thrust against me, lifting her hips. It feels immense, it feels like she's fucking me to death, and I might pass out.

This girl is milking my cock, and has no regrets. Her face is rosey red, the prettiest I've ever seen.

"Bella..."

* * *

He feels so good. He feels like a rock hard piece of perfect, as I fuck him. I feel close. I feel so close, I close my eyes to keep it in.

But it's not working.

"Bella..."

"Edward... Faster now, faster." I grip him, and pull him to me as he fucks me hard, and fast, faster, and more. He fills me up with every thrust, knocking against my soul each and every time.

I feel like I sometimes feel in sex dreams. The orgasm is always so intense it wakes me up. This feels so good, it must be a dream.

He growls into my ear, and begins to really pound into me. I hold onto the couch, my fingers burrowing for some kind of strength to let go.

"Fuck me, Edward. Fuck me." I practically scream, as he moves in and out of me, heavy, hard, dirty, until I'm about to crumble, I'm about to snap, I'm breaking. I'm breaking underneath him, and I can't even hide it. I'm curled in a ball, lying in my dreams, as the waves of pure fucking ecstasy take over, running down my legs, up my back, and into my eyes. I can't see. I can't see him, but I know he's there.

"Bella, I'm coming. I'm coming."

One last time, rocking me safely into heaven, he stills, and comes, deep inside me, I feel him shake, and tremble, and finally relax, falling onto me, as if from a great height, his head on my chest.

"Intense," is all he says, as I try to breathe, as I try to understand this moment. This powerful, awakening moment.

I can't understand. I don't. Intense is right. Immense is more like it.

* * *

_A/N:_

_I would love to know what you're thinking..._

_Please and thank you!_  
_samrosey. XO_


	14. Being Afraid

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

**_A/N: _**_Thank you to ficfangirl for teaching me things.__  
_

* * *

_Being Afraid_

_Before Bella_.

Four bottles of weak, watery beer later and I'm wondering what happened to Seth and me hanging out in his apartment that he shares with his prissy sister, whining about the lack of adventure in our twenty-something lives. I miss the rusty red he promised me, and the way she burns me as I gulp her.

I look around at the nameless faces, moving each to their own time-lapse, the different shapes and sounds penetrating my almost drunken mind, and see that yeah, they're all using different fucking tricks, but each and every one leads to the same space, out of the same need.

"What are we doing here, man?" I shout into the side of Seth's face, doubting if he can even hear me over the shitty dance music in this place.

"Relax. We're trying something new. Take a shot." He slams a shot glass in front of me. I don't ask what it is, I simply down it and pat him on the back. "I'll be..." I shout, waving my hand in front of me. I want to say, anywhere but here. But I don't, because I think he's actually having fun.

Half an hour later, another bottle of tasteless beer down my neck, I spot some seats near the door and quickly head for them. The bar is packed and the dance floor is jammed with dancing couples, groups, old friends, and strangers, all dancing as one as the pink and green lights flicker and strobe across the sea of waving hands. If I imagine them all as one moving in slow motion, this might be cool to look at. Except I can't, and Slo-Mo isn't real.

I sit for a while watching people laugh and play, spilling drinks on each other, dirty dancing, girls making out with each other, and I think this is a typical Saturday fucking night for these people.

"Why she always with you though, man?" Two guys are having a conversation about ten feet away.

"She's just a friend." I continue to listen.

"Do you hit that?"

"Watch your mouth." This guy is big, like bodybuilder, lift a fucking truck with his bare hands, big, and I think a fight might be about to occur.

"Hold up, hold up. I'm just curious. Why you gotta get all serious on me? Fuck this."

The smaller guy leaves, and now the big guy, whom I've aptly named Superman, is just standing there, seemingly trying to calm himself down as he shakes his head, and paces in the entryway. It's fascinating to watch, to wonder what he's thinking. Listening to other people's conversations is like taking someone's photograph without them knowing, like taking all the pieces you can find, and making your own story out of it. It makes me think of The Hotel. Sophie Calle was hired as a chambermaid so she could look in uninvited, so she could observe, so she could see all the things not meant for her, so she could create the lives of others using both the facts, and her own perceptions. I listen to people on the street, and like to think I'm doing the same. I'm really just a stranger, lonely for what they have.

I think Superman wants to kick that other guy's ass. He wants to punch him in the face repeatedly in order to show him something he obviously can't, or refuses to see. But why? Why is he so mad about those particular words, why did what that guy said, get to him so much? What is it about this girl, this girl he supposedly isn't screwing? I want to be Sophie Calle, cleaning their home, revealing all of their secrets.

A few minutes later, another doorman steps in, and stands almost as tall as Superman. I like that name, it's definitely fitting. He's even wearing a blue shirt. And on his wrist sits a black cuff like some kind of superhero. Superheros wear those, right?

"What's happening, man?"

"On break."

"Where's the girl?"

"Working." He jerks his head back, as if he means over there, nearby somewhere, and I find myself looking around, searching for her.

"Don't let that little fucker get to you, you know how it is with those hookers, man."

"She's not a hooker. Jesus, what is with you dickheads? I'm out." I'm on my feet now, watching as he turns to leave. Surprised that this is how it's going, and not in the more violent direction that I previously thought. The bouncer shouts something after him, too late for him to hear no doubt, and I can't quite make it out either, an accented thunder hurled in one direction, tumbles down the street on lost ears. All I got was something about being worthy. He's not worthy? She's not worthy? We're all not worthy? What the fuck? I don't know why I'm so interested.

What I do know, is that I'm looking out from the entrance as Superman crosses the street and enters another building. It's just a door, with no name above it, though it's clearly open for business, lit up in purple.

I wonder what's up there. I wonder why he's so protective of this girl, and why she's so special. I wish I had that kind of special. I wish I were the one threatening to fuck somebody up for badmouthing my girl.

"Dude. Come on." Seth startles me, and I'm suddenly back in the world of the knowing, and well, I wish I didn't. "I met these two chicks. Super hot. Come on, man, before they leave with somebody else and his drunk friend." Seth drags me back in by my arm, and I let him. Except I really just want to know how I can get out of this, out of here. How I can get out of talking to some drunk girls. How I can find my way through that door.

* * *

_With Bella_

I'm through the door. Well and truly inside. I got so far in, I went straight to the back somewhere, and rifled through her secret things, and now I'm lying here, covered in beautiful girl, smelling like sex, wondering what the fuck to do next.

It's the middle of the night, and she's asleep. I fucked her when fucking her for the first time was supposed to be an event, this act of adventure. Venturing to a place I've been obsessing over, and wishing for. It was that for me, but I worry she just thinks I stalked her, and then fucked her on the couch, and now I'm going to leave. I'm not leaving, but _It_ was supposed to be accompanied by sweet somethings that girls like, special moments, and words that seemed spontaneous, though I know I would have thought about them before, rehearsed them minute by minute in my head like pictures on a wall. A storyboard to fuck by.

This girl is driving me insane.

She's sleeping underneath me, each limb, wrapped in another, smooshed into some kind of after sex intermission.

I try to gauge the level of the situation without waking her. I'm still fully dressed, and she's lying exposed with her robe in disarray, torn apart by my legs. I try to pull it from beneath me, but it won't come. I pull harder, still trying not to wake her, and finally yank it free. Soft mewling whispers in the night, like wind between us, soothe my panic, as she turns over, nestling into me. She's still fast asleep, dreaming maybe. I cover her up, and rest my head against the back of the couch.

* * *

All I can think about are her grey shoes. They were flat, and wide, and shiny like the street lamps outside on a winter morning. I forever remember those shoes, and the way I felt about them. I remember looking at all the new faces, gosh I felt like I had never seen so many all in one place. I was excited, and scared all at the same time. I thought, this is fun, we can play crayons, and we can paint using all the colours, instead of just the four same ones I have at home that Charlie got for me for my birthday. And there was a Wendy house. It was pink and yellow, and pretty, and even had windows.

I put the lid on the toilet seat down, and sit. I grab the towel from the radiator and wrap it around me. It's warm, and fluffy, and smells like new adventures. I woke up to Edward lying next to me, and I didn't know what to say. Was it good for you? Do you want to do it again? Or was it hideous, am I hideous, and do you just want to leave? I freaked, and now I can't get this memory out of my head.

My skirt was grey too, just like her shoes, only darker, not as shiny, and I remember wishing for it to be summer just a bit longer so I could wear my summer dress. It looked so much better than the green and yellow tie I had on. What I had on all looked the same. Except we weren't all the same. I remember looking at the door, the big red door that led to secret places, and grown up faces, and I wanted to go home. I wanted my mom. I wanted Charlie to come in his police car and rescue me. Nobody was smiling at me, and everyone else had begun to play, leaving just me and grey shoes to wonder.

I wondered if that was how it was meant to be. Everyone else over there, and me over here. Maybe she would tell me her name, and we would swap shoes, and then play until home time.

The Wendy house was full of other girls playing, and the crayons were all broken by now.

Edward's out there, waiting for me, and it's all broken now. Just like those crayons. I barely got a chance.

He's not going to want me anymore.

There were two boys who looked exactly alike, they were fighting over those broken crayons, and I remember thinking how nice it would be to have another me. Someone to draw with, share colours with. Someone to share the playhouse with. And we would have the same uniform and the same shoes. And I would never have to worry about what they thought of me ever again. I would know because whatever they felt, I felt, and whatever weirdness, or sadness we each felt, it would seem normal. It would be familiar. No one would leave, and it would be good. I would be good.

I remember feeling hot, and looking for a place to hide. The day was beginning to get to be too much. Grey shoes followed me everywhere, but she wasn't saying anything.

I can still remember the thickness in the air, like suffocation. The room was big, so much bigger than me, so much taller than the rooms at home, and it was hot. It smelled like milk. I wished for summer fields, and daisy chains behind a big tree. But it smelled like off milk.

I hadn't found that tree yet, that came later. Still, I longed for somewhere special. I just wanted it all to be ready, that first day. I wanted it to have all been said so I could be easy, and not worry. I wanted people to see me, for the other girls to notice me, and remember my name. But I hadn't got there yet, and it felt like I never would.

Am I there now? Was I supposed to have been at that place by now?

Edward probably thinks I am. Just like all the rest.

But I'm not.

I'm fragmented by broken rules.

I'm trying to stay together by mending every other face I see.

This one is done, not fixable. This one is holding onto pieces of rubble as they fall down around me. Always fall down around me.

There's a knock at the door, and the memory momentarily fades. "Bella, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be right out." I will. Be right out. Just as soon as I can breathe again.

I empty out the contents of an old make-up bag on the counter, I know they're in here. I kept them for days like these. I kept them for moments like now.

I can't remember.

For some reason, I can't remember lunch time. I don't remember who I sat with. I don't remember how I felt.

I just remember sitting with my legs crossed, waiting. My black shoes that had patterns of flowers on the soles, were already scuffed, on the first day. I was going to be in so much trouble. Sitting like that, our feet touched, grey shoes, she was still there, and I couldn't help wondering, if tomorrow would be the same.

I remember rolling down my socks because I felt like my legs were being smothered, pulling at my tie, I wondered if I could count the amount of days I had left before I never had to do that again.

The date on the pills is from two years ago.

The expiry date is the end of this year.

I drop two into my palm, and hold them tight.

She let me hold her hand, my new friend. Only I found more differences, not the same. The palms of her hands were lighter than her knuckles, and she had long fingers, and was so much taller than me. She had a name that sounded pretty, but felt like I had something in my mouth when I said it, kind of like my own name.

When we lined up against the wall, and waited for them to let us out. I didn't know who would be there, but I expected to see a familiar face. I was excited to see that familiar face. I turned to grey shoes, and smiled, and hoped to see her tomorrow, I had made a friend, I thought. But she just ran straight past me, out into the warm afternoon, and into the arms of a bigger version of her.

I looked for my own then, the other version of me that I had wished would colour with me, and never leave my side. With arms outstretched, she crouched down waiting, and I ran to her just like my new friend had. I ran as fast as I could, into her arms and thought, if this is what growing up is like, where people don't want to share their crayons with me, or let me take a turn in the Wendy house. If they leave me standing in the corner all day, I don't want it. I don't want any part of it.

I never went to school the next day.

I went to the hospital instead.

"Bella, I'm worried. Please open the door."

I want to open the door. I want to see what shoes he's wearing, and if his name sounds the same every time I say it. I want him to be the other version of me, ready for everything that I am.

I don't want him to run away from me.

I don't want to run away from him.

"Bella, I'm coming in."

He's opening the door, the truth door to my secrets way back in the far back of my mind. It's so simple really. But it's my simple, and I am wrecked by it all nonetheless.

"Are you okay, what's wrong?"

I can't speak to tell him this name.

"Talk to me. Please."

He's shaking me to make it all okay.

"Bella, I don't know what to do."

Me either. I don't know either. That's okay. Right?

"It's gonna be okay. You are going to be okay. I know it."

He doesn't know it.

"I can do this. I want to do this. But you have to let me. Can you do that?"

It's ugly in here. Dead flower beds, mulchy chartreuse, and drops of blood.

I don't want to wait for you to come along again. It would be a lifetime.

"I remember one time," he begins, and it feels nice, not being alone when this happens, "my teacher in college locked me in the darkroom. It was my first time, and I was terrified. We were supposed to learn how to transfer film, and I mean, I had done it ten times before. In class. She even pulled me up, and had me demonstrate. But in that room, where it was dark, and restricting, the sound of all my classmates laughing, and yelling out that they had finished, I choked. Something inside just fucking froze me. I freaked out, and started yanking on the door, trying to get out. But she had locked it. She locked me in there, and I didn't know if I would ever get out."

What is he saying? Does he know me? Is he the same as me?

"Don't you get it, Bella? I got out. In that moment, I thought I would get sucked into that black hole of noise, the sound of my own failure. My own breath struggling in my ears, strangling me. My head began to pound, but she held my hand, and she told me it was going to be fine. She unlocked the door, and the moment the light hit my eyes, was the most intense moment of my life up until that point. I ran down the halls. And I kept running. I ran until I knew it was safe to go back. I ran until I knew I could handle another try."

I'm not ready to handle it. I have no try left.

"I don't know what causes you to freeze up. I don't know the triggers that make you stir until you feel crazy. But I know it's real for you. And I know that I can't fix you. But didn't it feel good? What we did, being together, didn't it make you feel good? For me, it made everything else go away. All of it. I want that for you."

It did. He felt amazing. He felt like a field of trees, like a tall room, like a tray of new crayons, all the colours of the rainbow.

He felt like clearing my mind, breathing easy on a rainy day in June.

"Bella..." I'm watching him move, I'm feeling him sit against me on the floor of my bathroom. His fingers lace with mine. His breath against the side of my face. "Look at me. Can you look at me?"

I look at him. I really do.

"Please say something. Please come back to me. And I promise, I won't ever stop trying to make you feel anything less than happy."

"I'm afraid."

The relief of my words, reflected in his eyes is painful.

"It's good to be afraid, Bella. It's good. I'm afraid, too."

"You are?" I feel like a child.

"Of course."

"What are you afraid of?"

He doesn't speak right away, and I realise that I'm really listening now. I'm not sinking down to the bottom of the ocean, or drifting into a coma. I can feel his fingers, and smell his boy scent, and I feel like I might even have the energy to climb into his lap, and cover him in me, so I can feel good again. So he can feel good again.

"I'm afraid of losing you. Of getting to really be with you. I'm afraid I'll love you, and I don't know if you're capable of loving me back."

Loving me. He wants to love me? He's afraid to love me. I squeeze his hand in mine, I don't know if I'm trying to reassure him, or if I'm trying to get the confidence I need to speak. Either way, it works. I look into his eyes that sparkle under the bathroom light, and tell him what I know. "I'm capable." I'm so very capable.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Visit my blog to see photography talked about in this chapter by Sophie Calle._

_If you're reading this piece of crazy, I would really love to know!_

_Please and thank you!_  
_samrosey. XO_


	15. Helping Bella

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

**_A/N: _**_Thank you to ficfangirl._

* * *

_Helping Bella_

_Alistair - Monday: 11.00am_

"You sounded very upset on the phone."

"I think I'm broken. Cracked wide open."

"Tell me about yesterday."

"I was at the club last night. But it wasn't just dancing. There was an event, you know the free for all I told you about last summer? It's all different now. I know I said I would stop if it started to change, but it just feels like something that I do, that just...is."

"A habit."

"It's all changing."

"What don't we do when things change?"

"We don't run. We don't hide."

"Who doesn't hide?"

"Me. I don't hide."

"Good. Tell me why it's different."

"It's suffocating, not pretty, feeling good, I don't. Not at all. All of the excitement, the wondering. It's something else now. Like an unwanted touch. Or a bad smell."

"What's the solution?"

"I think I'm done. I'm done. It's not fun anymore. It served its purpose."

"What was its purpose?"

"At first, mostly to pay for school, rent. Rocky. Even though he would have done it for free. But it was charming to me. I was attracted to the whole thing of it. The atmosphere, the bad suits. Curious about who they were. They were the outside to the inside of my clients on the couch. I don't know. I didn't feel bad about myself. It wasn't something I needed to survive. It wasn't basic. I felt naughty. It was a dirty secret that I looked forward to. I wasn't having sex. I mean, I hadn't. I didn't get to go home to anyone, with anyone. And it sort of felt like having that intimacy, without the rest of it."

"How is your relationship with Rocky?"

"Good. Really good. He finally met Edward. Together they pretty much saved me."

"Do you want to be saved?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes I do."

"What do you want to be saved from?"

"Loneliness. Boredom. Myself."

"You said they saved you, how did they do that?"

"I had a panic attack. It was pretty bad, I passed out."

"Do we need to talk about medication again?"

"I took some. I had some leftover from when I stopped taking them the last time. I took two pills. I was out of control. I couldn't close the gaps, breathing was hard, everything was harder."

"Did they help?"

"Yes."

"How did they help?"

"They helped me listen to Edward."

"What did he say?"

"He makes me smile. He makes me feel things without me even having to try, like, it's the easiest thing in the world. When he says those things. His face, his hands, the way he touches me. He wants to be there, he said he's not leaving, and that he...he..."

"Finish the thought, Bella."

"He said he could love me, that he was scared to love me."

"Do you think that maybe it was really Edward that helped to close the gaps, that it was Edward who helped you hear, helped you see clearly again?"

"I..."

"Medication isn't always the answer. You've chosen not to lean on pills in the past."

"I don't want to start that again. Go back. I don't want to simply drift to exist. Even if it means feeling bad. I want to be able to look it in the face. I do need help. I know that. I'm here. I have you. You're helping."

"Tell me about what's next."

"I took a leave of absence. They're probably not going to renew my contract. My clients probably hate me."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I would be angry with you if you disappeared."

"Are you afraid I'll disappear, Bella?"

"No. Yes. I don't know, I mean, sometimes. I like having you. I like knowing that you know me."

"What do you plan to do?"

"Nothing. I plan to do nothing. I just want to see..."

"See?"

"I want to see if I can be something else. I want to see if... I am something other than what I have been. If all the things I have become are actually parts of me that I want. I don't like myself very much right now."

"What don't you like?"

"I'm a mess."

"Are you wallowing?"

"In my own pity. I think I might cry, but I don't want to."

"Do you want to drown?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you want to be pulled out by someone other than yourself?"

"Is that bad?"

"You tell me. It's your pity. It's your mess. It's yours to do what you want with it."

"Are you saying that it's my fault I am this way? I feel this way because I choose to?"

"No."

"You are. You think I should just be okay with it. I should be normal like everybody else. It's an excuse. My mother leaving. Throwing me away like a piece of fucking garbage. That my father dying was... Am I supposed to just be over it already?"

"Bella... What our parents do when we're not looking, what they teach us, and how they raise us, all that we see when we are young, defines us. There is no time frame. There is no normal for you now. There's only this new way. Normal went away when your mother did. Do you want me to feel those things about you, because you think that's how the world sees you?"

"It is how the world sees me. Mommy issues. Daddy died. Life sucks. Get over it."

"Who says those things?"

"People."

"What people?"

"Everybody."

"Generalisations, Bella."

"But people are mean. Hateful. Judgemental."

"Are these people your friends?"

"No."

"Then why does it matter?"

"It doesn't. I just..."

"What? What do you want?"

"I want to feel like something is enough. I don't want to feel empty from being alone, and sad, desperate for some basic human contact. I don't want to feel so full up with emotions that my body physically cannot take it, that my mind shuts itself down just so I don't die. Just so I don't fucking die."

* * *

_Before Edward_

There are police officers everywhere I look. Navy blue, it's written in the stars. The flowers are white, even the ones on his coffin. They are all white. Except for mine. My flowers are red because Rocky suggested they be different from everyone else's. He said I might want that, in a sea of other people's sadness. I don't really know why. I do know that he isn't crying like me. He isn't crying like my dad's partner either. But the woman who lived next door to us, who I think secretly loved him, is. She brings over food every Sunday, for as long as I can remember. Did bring. Brought. She brought food. Not anymore. Every time I turn around, she stops crying, she just stops at will, and looks at me. But it's not pity, or compassion, or even empathy. She's not sad for me. She's sad for herself. She's not sad for Charlie. She's sad that she won't get to cook for him, to pretend she's his wife. To make-believe that someday.

I feel sorry for her. That she didn't ever tell him.

I have compassion.

And I pity myself. Because I'm going to end up just like her. Loving a man who doesn't even know it.

Where did you go, dad?

Why did you have to die?

What does dying even mean?

Now more than ever, I just don't understand. It's that simple. It all ends in confusion. I will never know why or what for.

My mom left. She didn't die in an accident or get murdered by a bad guy. For years it felt like I was just waiting. Waiting for her to come back. As if she could just show up, and be Renee again. Who is she? She was just an idea for so long, and I was just finally getting used to that, getting used to not having her. She was gone. She didn't exist. She was dead in the most real way. Except she wasn't. And now Charlie is, and I just want to go back to waiting. Waiting for him to be again. Waiting for him to shout at me for not rinsing my plates before putting them in the dishwasher, for never throwing away the milk carton when there's only a sip left. For having dirty shoes, and for always looking like somebody else's daughter.

I used to hate that. I wanted to look like him. Not her. I wanted everyone to know who I was, and that I did belong to someone.

It's only now, that I know what he meant. I was different. I was different from him, and he was scared for me. That I would be picked on, and singled out for all the wrong reasons.

"_I just want them to see you, is all. Underneath all this stuff that you wear. You're special, Bells. And you have to learn the world first. People aren't always who you want them to be." _

Rocky holds me up for the first time.

His big strong arms remind me of my dad's.

I have known this boy for exactly eight days. And he offered to come to the funeral because he said I shouldn't be alone. I look around and there are hundreds of people standing in the wind, crying to the sounds of a prayer. A prayer that I don't know. I don't want to know why this is God's plan, or what he would say, or how it's all going to be okay.

Because it's not.

My dad is dead.

Dead in the ground, never to return.

I'm on my knees. Rocky's hands are on my arms as I heave over the flowers, looking down into hell.

He's in there.

Charlie is in there. His body is in that box. And I just want to see him again. Hug him again. Wrapped up in him again.

Where did you go, Dad?

"I can't do this. How am I supposed to do this?"

Rocky doesn't know either. He wants to. I can see that he wants to give me an answer. But what answer is there? I don't think I'll ever know.

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_Please and thank you!_  
_samrosey. XO_


	16. Bella Being Happy

_**The names are not mine, the rest is.**_

_**A/N:** I don't know where I've been, but it's been lovely. So I wrote this. No beta. My apologies._

* * *

_Bella Being Happy_

_With Bella_

Closing my eyes is like torture. Her face. So unmoving. So fucking absent. So undeniably full of tragic.

Closing my eyes is bliss. Her face. So animated. So fucking beautiful. So unapologetically adorable.

I wish she was here. Right now.

But boys don't knock on girls doors in the middle of the night, in real life. Do they?

She says she needs space. I need her. Her voice, her touch, her body against mine. We don't even have to have sex.

She says she needs time. Time to heal, to be okay. Whatever that means. I need her. Her face, her hands, all over me. Who am I kidding? I want to have sex.

It doesn't work like that. The way she thinks. All this space. She can't just hide away from what makes her feel in case she feels too much. She's not going to be fixed after only two days of trying to get it together.

It doesn't work like that.

My boots are on.

My hoodie. It's cold.

My keys. I'm leaving.

The subway is lonely.

* * *

She is one shoulder bare. Purple loose, and inviting. She is black tights sexy, almost see-through, but not quite.

"Edward." Her smile is like fucking sunshine. She is lens flare, pointing my camera on the prettiest flowers.

"Can I come in?" She has this way, this way of looking, staring, watching. It's not uneasy, it's just her eyes.

"Wait..." She pushes on my shoulder, all five feet and a couple of inches. "Did you bring anything with you?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know." She's smirking at me now, and I have no idea what to do because I think this girl might be serious right now.

"I uh..."

"Tick tock," she says, pretending to close the door before pulling it back again.

"So... Maybe there's something in this pocket for you." I tell her, lying through my teeth.

"You're bluffing, there's nothing in there."

"You'll never know if you don't let me in. So, what's it gonna be?" She fingers my shirt, grabbing a handful, doing that thing again, just kind of staring at it, her fingers wrapped around the material. Wrapped around me. I want them to be wrapped around me. She's up and down, I never know which one of her I'm getting until she's surprising me with games.

"Deal." She nods. Adorable. She pulls me in.

Slams the door.

And pushes me against the wall.

"Bella."

"Sshhh." She's kissing me. She's kissing me with tongue, rubbing up against me. Her mouth is wet, and eager. She is handsy, and soft. I turn her around, she's mine now, trapped. My cock is pressing hard against my jeans already, pressing hard against her back, as I hold her in place.

"What are you going to do, Edward?"

"I'm going to make you... squeal!"

"Ahh." She is fits in my arms as I tickle her, "Edward!" She is music, windy chimes, raining laughter. Her smile is the biggest, and I wish I didn't know it will eventually fade.

She is fighting me off, convulsing like crazy, arms and legs, we're down to the ground.

"You smell like cake. You always smell like cake."

Her laughter is gone. Her eyes, they shine.

What's there? The power to drown her out.

What's happening? She has handfuls of jacket, pushing and pulling, which one does she want?

I'm caught in spells, lust... Something else.

She is sexy, and one out of so many.

"Why didn't I know you before?"

She shrugs, and kisses. Kissing my face, my nose, tiny girl kisses, all over me.

I think I love tiny girl kisses.

My jacket's off, she's riding me invisible.

"Hey." I hold her arms, soft skin, my fingers sink in easily, "Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

"Where's here?"

"I'm here..." She holds her hand to her head. "And here..." Hand on her heart. "And here..." She runs her hand along my stomach and down to her legs, to my jeans, hard underneath the heat of her finally wrapped around me.

"Are _you _here with me?"

She rocks against me, and I close my eyes.

I'm here.

I'm here.

* * *

_With Edward_

One, two, three, four. The fifth held my head, latex gloves.

It's seventy-five degrees, I'm walking in the city wishing for love, my heart flying. I would paint my wings pink and blue. Pink and blue.

One, two, three, four. The fifth shook her head and began to laugh. No empathy. I have tons.

It's near ninety degrees, my head is heavy. I miss the market I peeked in to, and the rickety railing I held with two hands. The fountain where I found him, and the room where we met.

But he was here. Inside me. He's inside me now.

The floor is clean, the brick is gold, no more bottles. No more dancing.

I lost my medicine, and my heart is swollen. Find your tiny pinhole, and make me new pictures.

One, two, three, I lost count.

No more soothing, no more touching.

Cry, cry, cry.

Give me something.

The doctor offered me nothing. "Not like this." I lost it, dirty and stuck. Her tests don't work, my skin is caught in you. Caught in you, cut.

It's 100 degrees, and I'm ready.

Edward is in my kitchen. He's looking in my cutlery draw where I shove odd things. He's looking at the pictures on my refrigerator and wondering who the faces are, and how I've ended up so fucking unstable.

Not today though. Today I'm normal. Today I have hope.

Today is a nine. But Edward, I think he might be my ten.

* * *

_Please and Thank you. _  
_samrosey. XO_


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